


Some Things are Brighter in the Dark

by Elizabeth1985



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Altered Memories, Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Dean, Castiel/Dean Winchester UST, Cuddling like it's a sport, Destiel - Freeform, Drug Use, Emotional Sex, Flashbacks, Frottage, Human Castiel, M/M, Not Fluff, Reverse Big Bang Challenge, SPN REverse Bang, Sam married to OC, Seizures, Teasing the fuck out of each other, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, bad drug trip, more tags to come
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 03:13:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 66,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5851837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elizabeth1985/pseuds/Elizabeth1985
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Campbell had an alright life. Nothing really to complain about. Well... except the seizures, and the general sensation that something was wrong. But then he crashed the Impala, and two days later an innocuous man moved in across the hall and everything changed. It was intense how he felt about Cas, this blue-eyed mysterious guy that said the strangest things. Dean fell for him so hard it was borderline insane. As much as it terrified him, Dean gave into it... let himself be happy. Of course, that was when it happened, when something shattered the lie. The mystery of his life had been solved, but what would it cost him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, so a lot happened while I was writing this story. Most of my normal readers are aware so I won't get into it. But yeesh, it was a struggle to get it done. I saw this story unfold the moment I saw [TwistedSlinky's](http://twisted-slinky.livejournal.com/102556.html) art and I love the idea of it and I hope other people do too. Her idea was just so perfect, and her drawings skills are frigging superb! Please go check out the link above for the artpost to accompany this story.
> 
> Thank you soooooo much to my beta [Tennyo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Tennyo) who's always there for me and reads stuff even when I'm cutting it close to the wire! ♥

October, 2015

_Beneath the canopy of an ancient oak tree stood two angels of the lord: One great archangel believed to be dead, and one fallen seraph. Neither would’ve imagined it would come to this._

_A calamitous decision was about to be made. Pasts would be completely erased. Lives entirely rewritten._

_“Are you sure?” Gabriel asked, staring at his brother in sorrow._

_Grief twisted Castiel’s reply. “No. But we’re doing it anyway.”_

_“You know he won’t remember you, right? Like, at all.”_

_There was a long silence that hung in the air. Only the sounds of paper-thin leaves rustling together gave texture to the arrested conversation. It was, for all intents and purposes, his moment of silence for something lost. Or on the verge of being lost, as it were._

_At last, Castiel gravely answered, “I know. But it’s worth it._ They’re _both worth it.”_

_“Alright, kiddo.” With a snap of Gabriel’s fingers, a dark-haired young man appeared beside them. All three shared equal expressions of a moment’s uncertainty. There would be no undoing what they were about to do._

_The newest arrival, appearing no older than mid-teens held out his arms. “Every memory?”_

_“Every single one.”_

_“We still going as far back as we discussed?”_

_“Yes.”_

_There was a weighted pause from Gabriel, who faced his brother with concern. “We could go further… “_

_“No,” he maintained. “What we’re doing is complex enough and we have no way to know what would happen if we erased that much time. This is enough, it brings everything back to a stable point in time. And by giving them new identities, new memories, they have a chance Gabriel. They have this one chance to have a life. I owe them that.”_

_Gabriel nodded and they both turned to their companion._

_“Consider it done,” he said, his young face stiffened in concentration, eyes closed to block out everything else._

_The world lurched beneath their feet._

_“Hold on to something little bro, shit’s about to get interesting,” noted Gabriel, looking around nervously._

_In the distance, a storm brewed. The wind whipped in from all directions, every current flowed like a magnet to where they stood. They felt the accumulation of time drawing in towards them. The world beneath their feet began to shake—the command forced on it stronger than anything that had come before._

_A slow fog rolled in from the building shadows. It wouldn’t be long now._

_A fresh start was coming and though many things, including things dearest to him, would be erased, it was for the best._

_In the last second before the entirety of many years were gone into the void, Castiel had one thought._

_“Please forgive me.”_

_…_

2008

“ _Sir!_ Are you okay?” an agitated female voice broke the silence, reaching through the blackness behind his eyes.

From further off, a grumbled cantankerous reply shot back, “That all-American model better not be dead on my floor, Nina.”

“Oh my god, Dad, call 9-1-1!”

Dean Campbell groaned. “No, no. It’s fine. I’m okay.” He gave his body the right commands to get moving, but clearly, getting vertical wasn’t happening just yet.

God, why did this keep happening?

Wincing from the barb of agony twisting inside his skull, Dean forced his eyes open to find dirt-treaded beige tiles staring back at him. Right, he’d gone to the nearest Gas’n’Sip for a few groceries. And now he was gazing at floor tiles.

Looking down towards his feet he saw the gooey exploded shells of a dozen eggs.

 _Awesome_.

“Sir! Sir, are you sure you’re alright? You don’t look alright.”

Squinting up to a young woman with thick black hair, her dark brown eyes widened in panic, Dean tried to smirk as best he could. “All good,” he croaked. “Sorry about the mess and, uh, the whole… seizure business.”

Very slowly, Dean pushed his body up off the floor and miraculously managed to get himself on two feet. Granted, the woman bolstered under his armpit helped.

“Do you need me to call anyone?” she asked, her head angled up to him from her small stature tucked under his arm. “You had a pretty violent seizure—I really don’t think you should be driving.”

Dean glanced at her shrewd stare and then over at the counter where her father rested his eyes on the local newspaper without a care. The front page showed the latest drama in politics. Was there an election coming up? He had no idea, decided he didn’t care.

“Nah, I’m good. It’s just this thing I have, but uh, I’ve got meds so I’ll be good.” All lies. Dean had no idea what was wrong with him. He wondered what the trigger was this time.

Before the world had gone spastic he was sure he’d been about to pay for his meagre roundup of staples. Searching the overlit, cramped checkout area, his green eyes found their way to a small white figurine glued to the top of the cash register.

An angel.

White, small, and one-hundred-percent innocuous.

But he knew, staring at its tiny shape with its tiny wings curled to its back, that it was the reason for his most recent impression of a fish out of water. A hot wave of nausea rolled in his gut, and some other feeling he was hesitant to name.

Dean brushed off the woman as quick as he could without being rude, paid for his groceries (even the ruined ones) and marched out of the store into the late summer afternoon air. Taking a deep breath, he mentally reset and crossed the shallow parking lot towards the gleaming black lines of his car. Just as he was coming up to it, he sensed something, a prickle on the back of his neck. 

He spared a short glance over his shoulder, and thought he saw someone walking away. A man in a tan coat, but the image was fuzzy, his brain blocking it out. And he wondered if he was seeing a ghost. The harder he tried to see the details, the more his head hurt... so he stopped trying and turned back towards the car.

Awesome. He was fucking seeing things now.

The moment his ass hit the driver’s seat of the vintage Impala, his fingers moved to the twin leather cords around his neck. He touched the velvety smooth texture, tracing their path towards his chest, where two charms hung. The smaller one had been a gift from his younger brother, Sam. Some protective trinket in the shape of a deity’s head the kid had bought at a flea market. Dean loved it.

And the other? Hanging a bit lower was a glass ampoule with an unknown substance inside. Its radiant nature reminded him of glowsticks at drug-ridden raves. It must have belonged to one of his parents, but he can’t be sure. All he knew was that he found it one day tucked into the back groove of the bench seat in the car.

Dean had put it on and never took it off except to shower. Even then, it had to be within sight. So he’d installed a hook on the back of the bathroom door and that was where both necklaces hung when they weren’t on him.

Some hidden unrest shifted inside him and he began to wonder if he did have a brain tumor. Though, he didn’t _feel_ sick. He felt … _displaced._

Which made fuck all of sense.

Reaching into his jeans pocket, he pulled out his cell and hit speed dial ‘1’ for this brother—Sam Campbell, a Teacher’s Assistant at Stanford University in his last year of Grad School.

Fancy schmancy, Sammy.

Dean smiled when his brother answered, “Hey Dean, what’s up?”

“Not much, you?”

“On my way to class. Oh hey, a new burger joint opened near my place and I know how much you plan to eat yourself into an early grave so we should check it out.”

When he smiled, it was half-hearted. He wanted to tell Sam what had happened, but he always hated putting a damper on their conversations.

“Yeah, sounds great,” he said. Each word sounded grim. Not exactly his normal reaction to an offer of burgers.

“Dean.” Sam’s lowered tone implied he was on to the ruse.

It was best to fess up now instead of five minutes later after hearing Sam whine. “Um, so it happened again.”

A punchy exhale blasted through the line. “Christ, Dean! I told you before, you need to go to the doctor! Promise me you’ll go. I mean it, Dean— _right now._ ”

Oh yeah, he already regretted this conversation. Dean hated doctors and hospitals. Basically anything that reminded him of the day both his parents died.

“Sammy, I’m fine, I swear. Honestly I’m, like, eighty-percent positive it’s about Mom and Dad, like just some psychological-whatever.”

“Maybe it is, maybe it’s not. Either way, if you don’t go to the doctor I’ll kidnap you and break into the Department of Radiology and give you an MRI myself.”

“Dude, you don’t even know how to use it! You’d probably give me cancer with an overdose of radiation or something. I don’t need my own brother nuking my nuts off.”

“Great. So you’ll go.”

Dean groaned and bowed his head. “Fine. I’m hanging up now. Happy teaching.”

“Hospital. _Now_ , Dea—”

Rolling his eyes, Dean hung up the phone and tossed it beside him. He glanced up at the Gas’n’Sip through the windshield and noticed the woman fixated on him through the window. The moment she caught him staring back, she averted her eyes and pretended to be checking the ceiling for bugs or cracks.

Man he hated it when people looked at him like that. All pitiful and wondering what the hell was wrong with him. He wished he knew too, but not bad enough that he’d subject himself to being prodded and analyzed like a lab rat.

“Sorry Sammy, no hospital today.” Besides, he was fine now. Good as fucking new.

Dean started the car, smiling reflexively at the low rumble of the engine. It always pulled him back to his early years; remembering fond late-night drives with his dad at the steering wheel.

By the time he made it back to his third floor apartment, Dean was zonked and dreading the bar shift that night. Why the hell he’d decided a second job was a good idea was anyone’s guess.

He supposed it was better than sitting on his ass watching Dexter for eight hours straight.

After putting away the milk, crackers, and peanut butter, he headed to his room to peel off the shirt and jeans he’d worn for his day job at Camden’s Auto. Before getting under the spray of the shower, he padded down the hallway barefoot and naked (kudos to the benefits of living alone) and sought out the Costco-sized bottle of Advil. He downed two with a glass of tap water, hoping his brain would stop trying to tear itself apart.

By the time the hot spray of water hit his shoulder blades, he was already getting over the whole seize and conk-out ordeal.

Surely, if he were dying from brain cancer, there would be far more symptoms. But it wasn’t rational thought that calmed him into putting off the doctor visit, it was the innate feeling buried deep in his gut. Dean wasn’t necessarily all about the psychological trauma BS, but in this case, he was betting on the issue being elusive, and of the kind of thing that a cocktail of Zoloft and Clozapine could probably fix.

Warmed from the shower and feeling sluggish, he checked the time and realized he still had a few hours before he was needed at the pub so he heated up a few burritos in the microwave, grabbed a beer from the fridge and parked his ass on the well-loved couch to zone out before he had to shovel booze to the greedy alcoholics of Palo Alto.

…

It was two in the morning by the time Dean got back to his apartment. On the plus side, his headache was long gone. But he was exhausted and stank of stale Budweiser. He debated a second shower but found himself ambling towards his bed, clothes being shucked off with his eyes at half-mast.

With his back sinking into the mattress and the sheets still settling over his naked skin, he brought his hand up to his chest and tangled his fingers into the leather cords. Capturing both the voodoo looking head and the warm glass in his fist from each pendant, he relaxed from the day and drifted off for a short six hour sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Birds chirped their way into Dean’s dream, yanking him back to reality. As the quiet surroundings of his small one-bedroom apartment bloomed into awareness, Dean frowned.

Tendrils of dreams from the night tried to cling onto his conscious mind, but it wouldn’t hold and by the time he opened his eyes to the morning light, all he could remember were wings.

Fucking birds.

A minute later, his alarm was going off. Dean groaned and buried his face in the pillow, abruptly irate at the thought of another monotonous day.

The damn hum-drum of static life didn’t sit well with him and he found himself craving chaos and unpredictability.

It probably didn’t help that he was going to be elbow-deep in a rusted shitbox that day. Dean was all about people loving their cars, but rebuilding the carb for a ’92 Beamer was just stupid. Maybe if the owner had taken care of the outside Dean wouldn’t be so bitter about the whole thing.

Reluctant to leave the warmth of his bed, he trailed his hand down his torso and passively fondled his morning erection, debating whether to follow through or settle for a few teasing strokes.

In the end, he spread his legs a bit and continued a slow tease, telling himself he’d get up any minute and get ready for work. But it felt good.

The annoying twitter of birds outside his window were quickly drowned out by the gruff noises leaving his throat as his hand settled into a steady rhythm.

One hand pumping below the sheets, the other padded around for something, anything, to come into. A shirt, a pair of boxers… anything would do.

An orgasm was building fast and he wasn’t about to stop for the sake of decency. Besides, it was his apartment and he could dirty up his sheets however he pleased.

Throwing off the comforter and navy sheet, he let the cool air flow unhindered over his skin and let the whole moment catch up to him. Fist moving faster, squeezing tight just under the crown, Dean panted his way towards release.

Stroking his palm over the glistening head, feeling the slickness spread around the blunt tip, Dean gaped and stared at the ceiling.

A flash of his dream exploded behind his eyes and it was abstract, nothing but a flash of sparks and something erotically terrifying in a complex array of emotion. Whatever it was took his breath away and he felt the first throb of release swell from the base of his shaft. He barely had time to grab the corner of the sheet before the first pulse of come spurted free, dampening the navy sheet.

Laying spread-eagle over the mattress, Dean waited till his lungs had evened pace before he got up and snatched his phone off the nightstand, realizing that it was still going off; a repeat of “Turn the Page” by Metallica.

He spared one look at the drying white stain on his sheets and shrugged. “Who’s gonna see it anyway?” he said out loud to no one.

It was ten past nine by the time he sauntered into the shop, still riding the high of a good morning hand job.

“Morning,” he called out to everyone already in the shop.

Jack Camden, the owner, poked his head out of the office and gave a little wave of his meaty hand before ducking back in. Stress of business ownership was taking its toll on the poor guy. Hair greyer day by day, lines aging his face long before it was time. Poor bastard. Dean walked over to the last bay where the Beamer still sat from yesterday. Sitting on the red padded stool, he wheeled his way to the back bench and grabbed his socket set and swiveled back towards the car to get workin’.

An hour into the job, Ritchie came over with a large coffee and dangled it towards him. “Pick me up?”

Rolling his eyes in relieved appreciation, Dean put down the quarter-inch bit and took the offered mug. “Damn you’re a good waitress.”

An ugly waitress, thought Dean jokingly, but efficient. Ritchie wasn’t fortunate in the looks department; he was tall but gangly, features far too angular, and despite being a nice guy, he tended to come off like a creep.

“Hilarious, pretty boy.”

Dean grumbled to himself about the jibe, took a sip and balanced the piping hot mug precariously on the car’s bumper. “What’s Camden holed up in the office for?”

“Beats me. Probably didn’t pay his taxes or something. Fucker needs an accountant.”

A hazy image of a man wearing a beige trenchcoat came to mind and Dean was railroaded by a mother of a headache.

Hissing from the pain, Dean shoved back from the car. The damn coffee cup slipped and exploded into shards against the cement floor. The crack of sound as it hit the unforgiving surface spiked through his skull, pain ringing through so intense it nearly brought his breakfast hurtling back up.

“Hey, man— _Dean?_ You alright?” Worry heightened Ritchie’s normally low voice. Dean tried to tune it out, but the man was already pushing at the back of Dean’s head, ramming it down low so that it was settled between his legs, low instructions spoke to him, “Just breathe man…” Jesus, you’d think he were giving birth or somethin’.

“Fuck off,” Dean snapped. “I’m not sick, moron,” he managed to snark back at the guy, trying to angle a glare at the man.

“Well I don’t know!” Throwing his long bony arms up, Ritchie shot him a defeated look.

Dean groused, cursing in low mutters, but decided having his head hanging between his knees _did_ feel better.

After several long minutes, he eventually raised his face and squinted through the bright (not really bright) lights of the shop at the lanky coworker staring at him, waiting for some kind of explanation.

With a thick voice, Dean asked, “You ever get headaches?”

“Not like that I don’t.”

I never used to either, thought Dean. No seizures neither. “Yeah, it’s a new thing for me too. Sammy thinks I have a brain tumor.”

“That would explain a lot,” said Ritchie, laughing at him.

Dean chuckled and groaned, his eyes drawn to the shards of ceramic by his feet and the unfortunate brown liquid pooling in the cracks of the cement floor. “I hope that mug wasn’t important.”

Ritchie laughed. “It’s Camden’s wife’s. Remember when she went all environmental on us and chucked all the Styrofoam ones?”

Dean swore and marched off to the closet in the backroom to grab some paper towels and a broom. Camden’s wife was a sweet older woman that frequently came in to bring her hubby some lunch, and was always extra nice to everyone who worked there.

She always reminded Dean of his mother. There was no visual resemblance exactly, but it was more of a motherly air about the woman. She bustled around the place with purpose, straightening their tools, mussing their hair as she passed by. One time Dean had sauntered in harbouring a wicked hangover and he’d cursed the moment he saw her wide backside between the jambs of Camden’s office door. He’d been quieter than a mouse as he’d walked by, but the damn woman sniffed, rounded him and smacked him on the arm. In a weird way, he liked the attention.

Well... Hopefully the mug he broke wasn’t one of her favourites. And more so, he desperately hoped she didn’t ask about how it happened. There’d be no fending off the woman’s drill-sergeant inquisition about the headache.

Thankfully, the remainder of the day continued without incident. No headaches or fuck-ups on his part and he was grateful. Whatever was happening to him lingered at the back of his mind, needling into his sanity like a sliver of wood.

...

Later that night, asleep in bed, a dream hit him like a freight train. Nothing elusive that led to erotic morning handjobs as before, but absolute terror that had him bolting up in bed, his skin slick with sweat and his breaths wheezing from his lungs.

Even awake, he didn’t see the bedroom around him, he saw a house doused in flames. And eyes the colour of rotten lemons vague in the background. It was such a pervasive, all encompassing fear that he thought his heart would never settle, half-expecting his chest would heave violently until he suffocated.

The hallucination started to dim, the image of another room... a nursery... still lingered. As terrorizing as the nightmare was, there was the strangest truth in it.

Dean and Sam had grown up in Lincoln, Nebraska. That was a fact. It was on his damn birth certificate for chrissakes. But he was sure, _absolutely fucking positive_ , that the house from his nightmare was located in Lawrence, Kansas. And even more fucked up than that was that the blazing two-storey house felt more like _home_ to him than 418 Cedar Drive in Lincoln. Okay, so nightmares didn’t exactly scream of authenticity or anything. They were nothing more than freakish mashups constructed by his damaged brain.

But, if all that were true, why the hell did his nightmare seem more real than anything else about his current life? Something was wrong. And whether it was in his head or not, he needed to know for sure.

Dean never went back to sleep. He couldn’t. Sleeping pills wouldn’t have cut through the state he was in. Wired and on edge to the point that he had a dull case of the tremors.

It was ticking past seven the next morning when he showed up on Sam’s porch and knocked hard on the front door. His brother answered wearing dark jeans and a light grey sweater over a collared shirt. Next to him, Dean looked worse than shit.

“What are you doing here?” asked Sam. Fuck… the kid was already worried.

“Can you take the day off?”

“Depends. What’s going on? You look like crap, Dean.”

In the background, Dean heard Sam’s wife call out to him, “Who’s at the door, sweetie?”

Turning back into the hallway, his brother hollered back, “It’s just Dean, I’ll be back in a minute.” Sensing something seriously amiss, Sam stepped out onto the porch and closed the door behind him. “Talk to me.”

Shifting his weight, Dean eyed his brother at an odd angle. Confusion and potential insanity warred within him. “I need to go for a drive. I need to see something. And I, uh, I need you to come with me.” Because this has to do with Sam too, he realized. And also, because Dean couldn’t do it alone.

“What do you need to see?” By the stretched tone of Sam’s voice, it was clear he thought Dean’s apparent tumour had ruptured.

“I’m not dying, and I’m not insane. Please, _just_ , come with me. No questions asked.”

Sam debated for a long few minutes, eyes darting back to the door before facing Dean again. He looked his older brother up and down, wondering where the adventure would lead him.

“Fine. I need to make a few calls … Wait here.”

Sam disappeared behind the ornate front door and Dean stood on the porch. Every part of him itched to move, feeling like he needed to look around for threats. It made zero sense.

His fingers twittered by his sides, like they were used to grabbing for something. But maybe, he reasoned with himself, maybe he was just on high alert from the nightmare and maybe everyone reacted this way when they were having some kind of … preternatural episode of whatever-the-fuck.

When they were finally out on the road, Sam demanded to know where they were headed.

Dean glanced at his lap with guilt. “Lawrence,” he said under his breath.

From the passenger seat, Sam went still. In a level question, he asked, “Lawrence—where, Dean?”

Somehow, he felt Sam knew.

“Kansas,” he edged out, sneaking a peek at his oversized little brother to gauge the reaction. He wasn’t short-changed.

Sam flipped his shit. “ _We’re driving to fucking Kansas!?_ Dean, it’s gonna take two days!”

“Not if we drive through the night.”

“Are you insane?! Dean, something is wrong with you. I know you don’t want to believe it, I know you think it’s about Mom and Dad and the car accident, and you’ve never liked hospitals. Fuck— _no one likes hospitals!_ But this is insane.”

“Why?”

“ _Why?!_ Because you just kidnapped me and are driving across the Country for no goddamned reason. Or do you have a reason? Because I’d really like to hear it.”

Dean clenched his jaw and fixed his eyes on the road. “I had a, uh… a nightmare.”

“A nightmare,” Sam echoed.

“Yes, Sammy, a fucking nightmare. I can’t explain it, but something’s wrong man. I fuckin’ feel it. And it’s not a goddamn tumor.”

When he heard no bracing retort, Dean glanced over and caught Sam staring curiously at him, his eyes not on his face, but drawn to his chest.

It was then that Dean realized he was gripping the lower charm that hung around his neck. It felt suddenly warm, like the closer he got to Kansas, something inside knew. Knew that he was getting close to a truth he didn’t know.

“Was it Mom’s?”

Dean shrugged and fought against a tightness within his chest. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

The stiff atmosphere that surrounded their argument abated and Dean looked his brother in the eye. “I need to do this. Just come with me… and I promise, when we get back, I’ll see a doctor. I mean it.”

Sam held his gaze and finally nodded. “Fine. I’ll indulge whatever this is. But two hands back on the wheel, it’s weird the way you’re clutching that thing.”

It was hard to let go. He had to concentrate on the command he gave his fingers, reassuring them that if he let go for now, he could hold on later. It was insane. Dean felt it deep in his soul, some part of him had been lost and for the first time he was legitimately terrified that he was insane. That he’d wind up in a mental hospital, forever wondering what part of his brain he was lacking.

After a couple hours, they settled into the inherent familiarity of a roadtrip. Not that he could remember many with Sam, but it felt natural, to have his brother taking up a hefty presence in the passenger seat. The way he’d reach over and turn the volume dial down. Dean would smile and turn it back up.

They ate crappy food along the way and bantered about nothing.

Whatever was wrong about him was starting to feel right.

Mid-afternoon the following day, the Impala’s tires rolled past the town limits. Somehow, he knew where he was going, even without his phone’s stellar GPS guided directions.

Part of him was drawn towards the denser part of town, but instead, he found himself navigating towards the suburbs, and then further, reaching the town border on the east side. Driving and driving until he found what he was searching for. A stark white sign came into view. It zoomed large from the right side of the county road.

_STULL CEMETERY_

_NEXT LEFT_

The road in front of him disappeared. Everything went black, vanishing behind a wall of unparalleled pain. The last thing Dean heard was Sam shouting from the passenger seat.

“— _Dean!!”_

_..._

_“It’s happened again,” Gabriel said._

_Castiel had begun pacing. “I don’t need to know! I told you never to talk to me about him. I won’t interfere with his life, Gabriel.”_

_“He won’t have much of a life kiddo if this keeps up.”_

_“And what the hell do you want me to do about whatever problems he’s having?!” he yelled back. “I’m no longer his guardian! I’m no longer his friend! I’m nothing.”_

_“Stow the melodramatics Castiel, you know it won’t work on me. Just go and help him. Visit the guy. You don’t need to tell him anything. You’re just a friendly stranger. Maybe being around you will do him some good—set his mind right,” argued Gabriel._

_Shoulders slumped, Castiel asked, his tone defeated. “Why would it?”_

_“Do I really have to answer that?”_

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

There was an incessant beep clawing at the inside of his brain.

Dean struggled to open his eyes, praying the noise was the remnants of an irritating dream he couldn’t remember. As he surged into consciousness, pains and aches slowly made themselves known. His face felt like it had been beaten with a baseball bat, and he was catching a draft from somewhere.

After a few failed attempts, his eyelids got with the program and stayed up instead of down. And he saw a field of bright.

Christ, am I dead? he wondered.

But he moved a bit and figured being dead would probably hurt way the fuck less.

“Dean? Oh thank god, are you awake?”

“Mm,” he groaned, his throat sore from disuse. “Jesus, it’s dry in here,” he croaked.

Magically, a cup of water and straw popped into view, the latter being nudged between his cracked lips. He sucked back the liquid in greedy pulls, feeling the odd way the cold splashed into his empty belly.

“Hospital?” he asked, squinting at his brother.

Sam nodded and said, “You crashed the Impala. We’re at Kansas Memorial Hospital.”

Goddammit. “How is she?”

Laughing, Sam shook his head. And it was then that Dean noticed the goose egg and stitches on Sam’s forehead. He wanted to throw up.

“She’s fine, Dean.”

“Fuck, Sammy. I’m sorry. I should’ve listened to you before when the seizures started. How’s that smart noggin of yours?”

Rising to his feet, Sam tucked his long hair behind one ear and smiled. “It’s fine. You jerked the car to the right and it tailspinned us. The driver side slammed into a tree.”

“Shit. So … what’d the docs say about me? Did ya tell them what happened?”

His brother grasped the edge of the bed rails and delivered the news. “I did. I had to, Dean—“

“I know,” he interrupted. A new kind of fear quickened his heart, wondering if Sam were about tell him he had some incurable disease and then he’d die in ten months.

Sam said, “They ran every test. Did scans… _everything_. The doctors couldn’t find a single thing wrong with you. Not one. Other than what the accident had caused obviously.”

Dean blinked back in stunned idiocy. “Nothing? Okay, does that mean I’m healthy and shit? And this was all just some fucked up psychological bullshit after all?”

“Not exactly.” Sam frowned. “They don’t know the cause but they’re saying you have a ‘ _seizure disorder’_ and… and… well, the cops were here, man.” So? Dean wondered, what the hell did that have to do with anything. It’s not like he’d been driving shitfaced. Giving his baby brother an eyebrow lift, he urged Sam to get on with it. “Dean, they took away your license. The docs are gonna make you take anti-seizure meds, and if you go a whole year without an incident, you can get your license back. So long as you keep taking the meds.”

Oh, for fucks’ sake! How is he supposed to fix and test cars without a goddamn license. “You fucking serious?”

“Unfortunately.”

Dean scowled. “If you say I told you so, I’m gonna wail on you.”

Sammy laughed and patted Dean’s shin. “I’ll go grab you something to eat. They want you to eat and check you over again before we leave, but we should be able to take off and head back home in a few hours.”

...

It took forever.

And by the time Sammy drove the rental all the way back (as Dean was terrified of planes and would no way in hell get on that stupid flying tin can), it was eleven at night two days later. And he had numerous voicemails and texts that he ignored. Besides, they were all work related. Having missed two shifts at the shop and one at the bar tended to perk people’s interest. Sam must’ve filled everyone in while he’d been out because the texts had gone from _Where the fuck are you?_ to _Ah shit, man. Just heard, hope you’re okay._

Dean decided that being okay was relative. Physically he was moving and talking, eating and shitting. As far as the hospital was concerned, he was aces. Minus the apparent ‘ _seizure disorder_ ’ that none of the docs had seemed drastically concerned about.

Dean climbed each step to the floor of his apartment with trodden weariness. Yeah, he was doing fine. But the kicker was, none of it mattered because the sense of wrongness that had led him on a mission roadtrip to Kansas hadn’t gone away.

As he turned down the bleak beige hallway, thoughts adrift, he stopped.

Down about twenty feet, right across from his apartment sat three boxes piled on top of one another. And by the flood of light pooling onto the old hardwood, it was clear the apartment door opposite his was open.

Guess the vacant apartment had gotten rented after all. The building’s landlord, cranky fart Mr. Raynor, must’ve been pleased. Another eight hundred dollars to pull in every month.

Curious about the new move-in, Dean progressed down the hall, noticing how his fingers twitched the way they had the morning he left with Sam. But he ignored it. Chalking it up to his ‘ _seizure disorder’_ and general craziness.

Rounding the boxes, he turned towards the open door and was greeted by a starkly empty apartment. There wasn’t one stick of furniture in the place, and no other boxes. Whoever was moving in was freakishly light on personal effects. Intrigued but strangely cautious, Dean leaned in more between the door jams and looked around. No one seemed to be there.

Dean frowned and knocked on the open door. “Yo? Anyone here?”

Sudden footsteps had Dean straightening his back. His eyes darted to the far edge of the kitchen, waiting for the new neighbor to emerge.

An unfamiliar face edged around the dull yellow wall and stared. “Hello,” a deep voice addressed him.

Dean wasn’t able to return the greeting. He was frozen with something close to fear, anxious on a whole new level. There was nothing hostile about the man in front of him. If anything, his countenance was unremarkable and as unassuming as anyone else.

But Dean had lost his voice. All he could do was stare, his brain stuck in a whirl of confusion.

“Are you alright?” the man asked. “You look a bit… banged up.”

 _Banged up?_ Dean raised his hand to his face and touched the sensitive skin, memories of the car accident resurfacing like a forgotten dream. Oh, right… he looked like an old peach. “Uh…” Clearing his throat, he tried to stutter through a response, “Yeah, I uh, was in a… a car… accident.”

Stepping a foot closer, sporting an intense look of concern, the man asked, “Are you okay?” As if this stranger was truly invested in Dean’s well-being.

“Fine,” replied Dean, wondering when the room had gone up six degrees. Two days deep into a new drug, he debated, maybe he was having a reaction. It would explain the sense of detachment causing one hell of an out-of-body experience. Not to mention the massive gap in social dexterity.

“Is there anything I can do?” his neighbour asked. Man, that voice… it was like Morgan Freeman level of comforting.

There was nothing this guy could do, there wasn’t anything anyone could do. Dean knew that. Something was wrong and he’d have to work it out on his own. For the meantime, staring through the empty apartment at this man he felt a strange mix of anxiety and reassurance.

Absently, Dean shook his head. An odd silence followed, not quite uncomfortable or foreign, but weird all the same.

Why’d this guy have such an affect on him? Dean scanned the unassuming man from top to bottom looking for clues.

Grey cheap-looking socks, Dean noted, eyes dragging upward. Worn light blue jeans that looked soft. A wrinkled white button-up undone just enough to create an open vee at the top of his chest. Chaotic brown hair sat atop a broad, expressive face. Blue eyes that seemed to stare with an unnecessary level of intensity and thick, wide lips that appeared to be in serious need of chapstick.

Nothing set off any red flags. The man was attractive in a bookish, closet-dominant kind of way. Power that simmered under a vestige of normalcy.

But the thing that finally pulled a real response from Dean was what hung from Cas’ fingers. “Gummy worms?” he asked, amusement loosening the nerves in his voice.

The man with the dry lips smiled. “A house-warming from a family member.”

“So, uh, you’re my new neighbor I guess?”

Blue-eyes smiled, and this time, it showed in his whole face. “Yes. I’m not sure how long I’ll be here though. It’s… _complicated_.”

Dean’s curiosity jumped. “Business or personal?”

The man laughed; this sarcastic, depressed sort of sound. “I don’t know anymore.” Based on the far off expression and overall countenance, Dean assumed the latter and it bothered him.

Acknowledging the reply with a curt nod, Dean suddenly felt stressed to the max and desperate to be alone. He began to back-up and managed to bump into the door frame.

“I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?”

Dean rapidly shook his head. “No, uh, no, no. I’m just … tired. Long day. Welcome to the building and everything.”

He was halfway in the hall, still without turning around when the man asked him his name.

“Dean,” he croaked, his throat closing in on him. His heart hammered inside his chest. “Dean, uh, Dean Campbell.” Wait, was that right? Fuck, he was losing traction on sanity damn fast. Was it the drugs? Was it his elusive medical condition?

Meeting the man’s eyes with a strange fascination, he waited desperately for a response. Dean had to know this guy’s name because he’d bet his crapola life that this guy was no _Brad_ or _Tom_ , or any other humdrum normal name.

Those depthless blue eyes searched his face for a long moment. And then the silence was broken.

“Cas.”

…

The following morning, Dean woke up by falling off the couch.

“Fuck!”

Rubbing the heel of his palm across his forehead, he peered over the couch, eyeing the bottle of pain and seizure meds with a longing.

Pulling his weak body to his feet, he stumbled over and choked them down. Last night was a blur, he remembered meeting the strange new neighbor when he got home, and remembered feeling _off_ about the whole encounter.

But none of it compared to the second the dude spouted his name.

 _Cas._ Short and unique.

Dean had no recollection of what happened after that, or of getting back to his apartment at all. All he remembered before the blackness of unconsciousness was hearing that name. Three letters that managed to come together and curl up inside his veins. It was ten kinds of crazy to think of it that way, so he shoved the thoughts down into the depths of his already fucked up psyche. Christ, he didn’t need this shit right now. It was bad enough battling seizures and headaches, his damaged synapses had to go and hit him up with some other problem.

Fucking bullshit.

Scratching his scalp and grimacing at how greasy his hair was, he cursed and faceplanted the couch. Facing the day was the last thing he wanted to do. Curling up against the worn leather and ignoring it all was the best damn option in his books.

At some point, he must’ve fallen back asleep because a knock on his door startled him awake an hour later. The second he was conscious, he felt the pain; a fucking skull-full of agony. You’d think he’d be used to it by now.

“Dean, it’s Sam. Open up!”

“Use your key,” he grumbled back, voice scratchy from a restless sleep.

Dead didn’t budge as he heard the door open and close. Even when heavy large feet sounded down the hallway, coming closer, Dean wasn’t ready to lift his head. It wouldn’t surprise him if he moved it and the fucking thing exploded like a poorly constructed pipe bomb.

“Your door wasn’t even— _Dude_ , you look like shit!” observed Sam. Based on the proximity of his voice, he was no doubt peering over the couch and taking a gander of Dean and all his glory.

“Headache,” he tightly replied.

“Again?” Sam turned back to the kitchen, and even though Dean couldn’t see his brother, he knew the expression denting Sammy’s perpetual baby face. Critical degrees of worry displayed in a stiff frown, thoughts spinning away in his academic brain. But Sam was good about not saying anything when it would fall on deaf ears anyway.

A little rattle told him that Sam must’ve snagged the pills from the counter and was headed his way. Dean’s legs were shoved over and a hefty weight plunked down on the couch, disturbing his nap spot.

“What do you want?”

“Came by to let you know the car’s being towed back. I’m having them bring it right to the shop, figured that’s what you’d want.”

Dean mumbled his thanks and attempted to ease up. Without having to ask, he extended his palm and two pills were placed into it. He threw them back and swallowed them down with a glass of water that practically appeared out of thin air in front of his face.

“So what’s the deal, Dean?” started Sam. “I thought you’d be feeling better. Are the pills not helping?”

Dean shrugged, not wanting to get into it. “I haven’t had a seizure, so I guess they’re doing what they’re supposed to. I dunno, man, I feel like I’ve been flattened by an ACME steamroller.”

“You should really lay off the cartoons and watch grown up shows.”

Snorting, Dean turned to his brother for the first time since he arrived. “Sammy, you might get your jollies off watching Dateline, but I’ll stick to my simple, no drama kid’s shows thank you very much.” And the occasional hospital drama, of course.

Dean was grateful that his brother stuck around all morning. It was clear the kid was feeling sorry for his big brother with the brain problems because he made them both breakfast without being asked to. Dean thanked Sam when he was handed a plateful of scrambled eggs and bacon. As they sat on the couch eating, Dean thought about what happened the night before. Grabbing the hot sauce from the coffee table he squeezed streaks of Sriracha on his eggs, images of a blue-eyed man cluttering his mind.

“Hey, so this weirdo moved in across the hall last night.”

“Weirdo- _how?_ ”

Picking at his eggs, Dean raised one shoulder. “I dunno. It’s not like he was wearing a sign or anything, just gave off a vibe that’s all.”

“Huh. Maybe he’s an axe murderer,” remarked Sam, smiling across the length of the couch.

Dean chuffed and took a bite. “Maybe,” he mumbled.

…

The following few days were uneventful. The same droning monotonous crap that had been going on for years. He was back at work the day after Sam visited and the car was already waiting for him. It was in bad shape.

Dean, Ritchie, and Jack all stood in front of her holding their respective mugs of coffee and grimaced.

“It’s tragic,” Jack said softly, shaking his head as he bent towards the rim of his mug.

Ritchie hummed in agreement. “You banged her up good Dean. Baby’ll need some top notch TLC, my friend.”

Dean nodded and reached forward to rest his palm on the hood where a prominent dent disfigured the entire driver’s side.

It sucked he wouldn’t be able to get started on her immediately, but they had actual paying customers that were far more important. Dean would have to suck it up and pull some overtime if he wanted to get her in decent shape.

He’d already struck up an arrangement with Jack. Even if Dean couldn’t drive the cars, he could still fix ‘em, and Ritchie would be his test-drive man whenever needed.

In his comings and goings over the course of the week, he’d only run into the neighbor once more. On Thursday night. Cas was leaving as Dean was coming home—later than normal now since he was forced to take the bus.

They met eyes in the hallway and Cas smiled, a barely there silent hello. Dean found himself returning the gesture and couldn’t ignore the way his heart struggled to maintain a steady rhythm.

When he got into his apartment and shut the door, all he could think about was taking a long, hot shower. Partly to rinse off the smell of public transit, and partly because the new neighbor unnerved him, not that he was ready to admit it. Same as last time, he took every weird feeling the guy set off in him and forced it out of his mind.

Ignorance wasn’t _bliss_ , but it was _better._

As Dean slowly peeled off his grease-stained clothes, he met his reflection in the mirror and realized he had the most peculiar sensation of estrangement. All the lines were the same, every freckle familiar, the green eyes just as green as before.

But he didn’t feel like himself. Somehow, he’d become less of the Dean Campbell he knew.

_Shocker._

Dean huffed a bitter laugh and considered the truth. God, no wonder he felt subpar—he had nobody sharing his bed, he had no car, he didn’t even have his goddamn health anymore. But worst of everything, he felt devoid of purpose. And other than having a spectacular brother, Dean clearly wasn’t winning the game of life.

Standing naked in front of the mirror, he reached up to pull off the two necklaces he wore, but as his fingers plucked the lower one from his skin, a smell wafted through the bathroom. Some sort of clean, mountainous scent with the undertone of warmth, like a dull spice.

Dean removed the necklaces and hung them carefully on the back of the bathroom door. He turned on the shower, enjoying the thick rushing drone that filled the bathroom. Stepping in under the spray, he let the water soak him through. All around him, the scent lingered. Nature and comfort and home all in one.

Working shampoo into his short hair, Dean breathed slow, pulling the smell into his lungs over and over. His movements became choppy, methodic as he tilted his head back to rinse out the soap. Shouldn’t he be able to smell the cheap shampoo or the even cheaper bar of soap he was rubbing against his skin?

In the far recess of his mind, Dean wondered if he were about to stroke out. When the hell did smells just come out of nowhere?

Slowly, his robotic motions progressed into full on shakes. The steamy shower started to dim, and Dean knew staying vertical probably wasn’t a good idea.

Before he even made the decision, he was crumpling into the tub base, his hands doing their best to ease the way down.

“Fuck,” Dean groused, pulling his knees up to his chest. Tears welled up and ran down his cheeks, errant sobs clenched his chest and throat and he’d no fucking clue where it was all coming from.

Leaning into the side of the fiberglass tub, the water pelting his back, Dean felt like the damn scent was drowning him. Everything around him was slippery and too-warm, the monotonous rushing of the shower whirring in his ears grew until it sounded deafening.

All at once, he decided not to fight it. To let the strange feeling of sorrow rip through him. He lived in the scent, let it flow into him with every breath and he cried. Cried harder than he had in a long time. He didn’t know why, and he didn’t have it in him to care. Dean sat there and let his body work through whatever issues it had.

When the crying seemed to stutter and wind down, he wiped his face and stood up, bracing his hand on the side of the tub for support. Goddamn, his legs were shaky as fuck.

There was no use in trying to understand what the hell had come over him and Dean decided it was best to ignore it. He finished showering on autopilot, taking extra time to scrub his face. Dean didn’t want to look in the mirror after and see swollen red eyes staring back at him.

By the time he was out of the shower and dried off, he felt whole again. Almost back to normal. It was impressive the way his mind managed to tuck the incident away, like it’d never happened.


	4. Chapter 4

It was Saturday afternoon and Dean had found the perfect way to snuff those nagging headaches that continued to assault him.

_Pot._ And fucking lots of it.

Ritchie knew a low-key dealer and after Dean had given him the vague overview about the whole seizure crap and constant headaches, he’d gotten a sweet hookup. Dean had never been into drugs much, but he wasn’t afraid of them the way most people were. It was actually hilarious that old huffy rich people thought that smoking up was the step before shooting up. What a fucking joke.

Yeah, _right_. ‘Cause Dean so often finished off a joint and got an instant hankering for heroin. Goddamn idiots. Passing judgement with an iota of world experience.

Dean held up the boat-shaped paper and licked across the top edge and placed it back on the coffee table to roll in the other side. One end he twisted and the other he left open for a makeshift filter. It just so happened that Sammy’s Grad student business cards were perfect and he cut off a strip and tightly rolled that before slipping it into the open end of the joint.

Ah. Perfection.

Dean raised the cylindrical smoke in his fingers and praised the symmetrical fill of it. Damn he was good at this. Not exactly something for the resume, but hey, it was a skill nonetheless.

Opening up all the windows in the apartment, he turned on his music and went to sit by the open window on the far side of the living room, his ass barely fitting on the narrow ledge.

Holding the joint between his lips and peering down, he flicked the lighter and held the flame against the twisted end and sucked back, continuing the pull until the tip was glowing and hot.

It wasn’t his intention to smoke the whole thing, but the first few pulls had an instant calming effect. For the first time in a while, he felt the tension leave his muscles, he felt his brain dial back on the constant spikes of discomfort.

When there was a quarter of the joint left, he tapped it out on the edge of the brick just outside the window and eased off his spot. He left all the windows open because the light breeze felt nice and it was best to air out the place anyway.

After he sealed the leftover joint in a little tin box and shoved it in the junk drawer in the kitchen, a knock on the door startled him. Christ, he was edgy these days.

No doubt he would look baked out of his tree but he decided to answer it anyway. Hopefully it wasn’t his landlord. That guy was a world class dick.

But when Dean opened the door, he almost wished it had been Mr. Raynor. Instead, his new neighbor lingered in front of him, narrowing his eyes in the most curious way.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, hey. Uh, what’s up?”

“Um, I… was wondering if you have any... mice traps.”

Dean scrunched one eye and tried to think around the fog in his mind. Wow, that weed was potent. Scraping around his noggin, he remembered that he did in fact have a vacant mouse trap under the kitchen sink. Old buildings necessitated it.

“Actually, yeah I think I just might. Come on in.”

Cas followed Dean into the apartment, closing the door behind him.

Squatting in front of the cabinet under the sink, Dean opened the shabby wood door and peered around for the thing. He wasn’t an organized or tidy individual by any means so it took a few seconds for his eyes to sift through all the crap he had under there.

Finally, he wedged his arm through half empty cleaning bottles and boxes of garbage bags and carefully pinched the edges of the wood bottom.

It still had peanut butter on it. _Huh_. Now that he was thinking about it, Dean had no memory of actually putting it there or setting it up. Oh well, his brain was a piece of shit anyway, it was no wonder his memory stores had serious leakage.

“Here ya go,” he said, turning around and finding Cas merely a foot away. The kitchen wasn’t big, and Cas was leaning against the opposite counter that separated the kitchen from the large living room.

Their eyes met and Dean felt himself swallow. Something about this guy really threw his brain off the rails. It made Dean think of some choice nights the last few years when he’d hopped the proverbial fence. Well, that and a whole shitstorm of other things that he didn't fucking understand. Best to chalk it up to the cerebral dysfunctions.

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas said in a quiet voice. He reached over and took the trap from Dean, only to rest it on the counter behind him. “You’re looking better from the accident,” he noted.

Licking his lips and tasting the residue behind from the joint, he replied, “Yup. All in one piece.” Dean gave a little smile and looked away. He realized, that even underneath all that pot, he was nervous. Which was stupid, Cas wasn’t some narc about to bust him for toking three-quarters of a joint. Nah, he was nervous for other reasons.

“I, um, like your music.” Cas thumbed over his shoulder towards the living room where the mellow tunes were rocking from.

It took Dean a second to focus on the words and realize what song was playing. It was Nirvana’s _Come as you are._ It seemed to suit the moment somehow, as if his iPod was picking up on Dean’s debate of whether Cas was someone that rubbed him the wrong way or someone that he wanted to rub up against the right way… Kind of a ridiculous conundrum really.

“Thanks,” he muttered. “So, uh, what-what do you do?” Dean asked.

Only a handful of sentences exchanged between them and yet this conversation was the most awkward experience of his life. Which was why it surprised him to realize how reluctant he was for it to end.

“I work at the corner store at the end of the block.”

Dean’s eyes widened with faint surprise. This dude did _not_ look like the convenience store type by a long shot. Not that Dean should judge how a man acquired green. Hell, Dean himself was rocking two jobs and neither were exactly the kind of thing you write home about. It was just, the guy standing in front of him didn’t look like he peddled lottery tickets and slushies. Truthfully, he looked like he balanced the books for a criminal organization.

Cas must’ve caught his look of surprise. “I know it’s not a very important vocation by any means, but it was available, and I had just moved, and—“

“Hey,” interrupted Dean. “Don’t sweat it. I’m just a grunt for a mechanic and beer swiller by night on occasion so there’s no judgement here. I was surprised is all. You seem, I dunno, too serious for that kinda gig.”

“I seem serious?” Cas wondered out loud, making an odd face. “Is that bad?”

Dean laughed. “No, man. Never mind. Don’t mind me. I’m actually pretty baked right now so I’m probably not the best conversationalist at the moment.”

It was then that Cas finally looked upwards and sniffed a few times. “Ahh... _Marijuana_.”

A short chuckle tripped past his lips because who the hell calls it Marijuana? What a dork. But with that giggle, came another. And Dean stared into Cas’ too blue eyes and felt the high sway through him. He wondered what Cas liked to read, what his favourite food was, and whether he was a side sleeper or preferred to sprawl out on his back.

“You ever smoked before?” Dean asked.

“No. Do you do it often?”

“Nah. I’ve been getting these headaches and, um, was recently told I have a seizure disorder or some crap. A friend of mine said it would help. And actually, I have to say—“ Dean abruptly shut his yap.

Cas’ expression had switched so rapidly from intrigued to horrified that Dean wondered what the hell he could’ve said wrong.

Staring off in a wild unfocused way, Cas’ thin voice edged out, “A seizure disorder?”

Dean shrugged it off. “No big deal. Seriously, it’s all good. Heck, Sammy— _my brother_ — he thought I had a freakin’ tumor.” And then he laughed again. It wasn’t funny, but he was high. Everything was just a _little_ funny.

“Is that-is that what caused the accident? You had a-a seizure?” Cas brokenly asked, his frame locking up and taking away the picture of ease that he’d been not two minutes earlier.

With an indifferent hum, Dean replied, “Yeah, but seriously, I’m good. Geez—anyone ever tell you that you over worry about strangers?”

Cas whispered something low and if the music had been off, Dean might’ve heard it, but he didn’t. The weirdo neighbor was having some kind of freak out in front of him and he had no damn clue why. Surely, the guy couldn’t be all bent out of shape about Dean’s minor health problems? They didn’t even know each other.

Just as Dean was about to approach the man and ask him what the hell was wrong, Mr. Blue-eyes grabbed the mouse trap, muttered a clipped goodbye and started walking towards the front door.

“Hey,” Dean rushed out, jogging after him. Dean caught Cas at the door and reached out for the edge of his shirt. Giving a few tugs on the thing, he managed to get Cas facing him again.

“Where’s the fire?” he asked, searching the man’s expressive features for an answer.

“I have somewhere I need to be.”

Every cell in Dean revolted against the idea of Cas leaving. Where would he go? Dean thought sadly. Would he come back? What if I never saw him again? His whole body strained against the urge to drag the hot blue-eyed man back into his apartment and ensure he never left.

_Yeah…_ Those thoughts were soooo normal. Not at all stalkerish and fucking creeptacular. Jesus Christ, Campbell, get a frigging grip.

When Cas reached back for the handle, Dean started blabbing before he could stop himself. “Wait, wait. Look, uh, we should hang out again. You seem like an okay dude, and you’re right across the hall and everything. Why don’t you, I dunno, come over and watch a game with me sometime?”

Mother of fuck, why did he sound so goddamned desperate? Get. A. Grip.

“A game?” repeated Cas, eyes narrowed.

“Football,” he clarified. And dear sweet lord, he was sweating. Why in God’s name was he sweating? It’s not like he was asking the dude on a date. Besides, Dean didn’t date guys.

Cas nodded in understanding, but his eyes were roaming, like some miraculous trap door would appear and he could disappear out of the conversation. Evidently, Cas was picking up on Dean’s stalker-y inclinations. Awesome.

“...Or not,” said Dean, drawing back a step, giving the guy space.

Cas’ eyes snapped back to him. “Uh, football sounds… _okay_.” Swift relief rushed through Dean and before the tenuous plan could crumble, he shot out a time tomorrow for Cas to come by.

And then Cas left, leaving a strange void. In his absence, Dean tried to get a handle on himself. Sure, his neighbor was easy on the eyes, but that didn’t explain Dean’s reaction to him. Which, to put in mildly, was kind of bordering on obsession.

Every part of him screamed to latch onto the man and never let go. It was fucking intense, and more than slightly disturbing.

_Christ_. Get your shit together, Campbell! One hot dude moves in across the hall and you’re turning into a bumbling moron with psycho-killer tendencies! Not cool, man. Not cool.  

Not to mention the fact that Dean had rules about how he felt about men, and how he acted with other men. He’d guess that it boiled down to his dad’s lack of acceptance about his lax sexuality. Dean was more of the persuasion that if he wanted something, he went for it. It didn’t matter whether the person he wanted at the time had breasts or a dick. And one time… both.

But he was careful. Of all the men he’d spent nights with (not that there were many), the trysts had ended before the sun came up. He just didn’t see himself long-term with a dude. Actually, he didn’t see himself long-term with anyone. Every time he tried to imagine a domestic bliss of sorts, he was struck by fear.

Forgetting all of that, Dean decided that Cas was different. He barely knew the guy, and yet, every time their eyes locked, his heart pulled the equivalent of tripping over its own feet. Not something that happened to Dean very often. More like ever but who was counting?

Maybe Dean would break his ‘No Dating Dudes’ rule just once.

Then again, maybe he’d chew it over with Sam first. His kid brother always knew what to say. The guy was like a damn emotional guru. Most of the time it drove Dean crazy, but he often took advantage when it suited him.

Anyway, he thought, tomorrow _wasn’t_ a date. Just a couple of guys watching football. Totally chill. No need to worry about breaking any rules or any of that garbage.

Dean smiled at that calming conclusion, absently stroking the two necklaces hanging down the centre of his chest.

**…**

It was the following day and the ‘Super Chill Football Game’ non-date was about to start. Tragically, so was Dean’s fatal heart attack. If the rapidly increasing beats were anything to go by. Man, he hoped his pulse would take it down a notch. He had an app on his phone that checked his heart rate. Out of curiosity, he checked it then. A _ridiculous_ one-oh-eight. Considering Dean was a fairly fit guy, that was just sad.

No matter how diligently he tried to assure himself this was _not_ a date, his nerves weren’t convinced.

Since the moment he woke up to now, every minute had been utilized in some form of preparation. He trimmed his minimal scruff, showered, and even made sure his manscaping was all tidy and visitor-friendly. Not that he expected any of that.

Fuck, he barely knew the guy! _But_ , he reasoned, one never knows.

Once his body was presentable, he made sure the apartment was in tip-top shape. Usually, this would mean no more than removing his clothes from various furniture and gathering the random papers that accumulated on every surface. But he felt the need to go further, and busted out the cleaning products and the broom.

When he was kneeled in front of the toilet cleaning the porcelain throne with bleach, he cursed at himself. If there was anything to suggest he might, maybe… _just a wee little bit_ … have a thing for this guy, cleaning the toilet with vigor was probably the neon blinking light.

“So friggin’ stupid,” he muttered to himself.

Once the apartment was cleaner than it’s ever been, Dean took a second shower because every inch of his skin reeked of bleach and Febreze. Not exactly a cologne to attract the masses. Or more importantly, one blue-eyed, intriguing, mysterious man across the hall.

With fifteen minutes to spare, he poured some party mix into a big black bowl with the Batman logo on it. After staring at it for a few seconds, he went back to the cupboard and snagged a bag of popcorn, stuck that in the microwave and then mixed it in.

There, he thought, better than nothing.

Beer was in the fridge. TV was on. Dean raised his arm and sniffed his armpit, pleased that he remembered to put on deodorant.

When the inevitable knock on the door disrupted his tense little bubble, he cursed at himself, flattened his plaid button-up down his torso and walked to the door.

“Hey,” he greeted, pulling the door open.

Cas smiled and held up a freezer-sized Ziploc chock-full with every candy that’s ever existed on the face of the planet. “I come bearing diabetes.”

Dean laughed and had a half-second’s temptation to throw his arms around the man’s trim athletic frame and just squeeze the crap out of him. But he didn’t. Because that would be hella weird.

“That’s, uh, quite the big bag of candy,” he noted, standing to the side so Cas could enter.

They moved down the hall to the kitchen and Cas let the giant bag of sugar land on the counter. With a tired expression, Cas said, “My… _cousin_ , he’s got a problem with sweets. I told him I was coming over to watch a football game and he insisted I bring something.”

Smiling, Dean took the candy and the party-mix-plus-popcorn Batman bowl and set them both on the coffee table before going back to the fridge and asking Cas what he was in the mood for.

“I’ve got water, beer, orange juice, and some weird organic fruit crap that Sam brought a while back”—Dean took a closer look and reconsidered—“Hmm, actually, there’s something floating on the top so maybe not that.”

I should probably throw that out, he thought. And he mentally slapped himself, because he’d scrubbed and cleaned and tidied the whole damn apartment and never thought to clean out the various science projects growing at the back of his fridge.

“As tempting as lumpy old juice sounds, a beer is fine, thank you.”

Taking two Buds from the fridge, he twisted off the caps and approached the single couch like he was embarking on an adventure. He passed off the beer and sat at the other end, putting as much room as he could between them. He really should have more furniture in this place.

It was a blessing when the game started and he cranked up the volume to let the familiar sounds of bodies clashing, whistles, and steady commentary pump up the atmosphere of his small apartment. They watched together, hands reaching blindly for goodies, periodically swallowing sips of beer.

On the surface, he imagined they looked like a couple of buddies, chillin’ out, watching some quality athleticism. But simmering in the undertones was the pervasive tension that radiated around the couch like a cloud. It was the least relaxing football game he’d ever watched in his life.

After the game was well in swing, Dean turned to the side and casually started questioning the guy. “So, _neighbor_ , where’d you move from?”

Cas darted his eyes to the side and then back to the screen. Dean watched his Adam’s apple bob. “Um… Idaho.”

“Idaho,” Dean repeated. For whatever reason, he knew Cas was lying, but instead of calling him out on it, he asked another question. “Ok then. Got any family besides the sugar whore of a cousin?”

At the mention of his cousin, Cas smiled indulgently. “Yes, I have family. But, they’re… living different lives now. I don’t really know them anymore.”

Humming as though he understood what Cas was talking about, Dean turned back to the screen and shut himself up by taking a swig of beer. It wasn’t long before he felt the urge to pester some more, like he couldn’t stand not knowing every insignificant thing about this guy.

“You got any cool hobbies?”

Narrowing his eyes, Cas gave it some thought and when he turned to Dean he seemed to be elsewhere, thoughts drawn to another time. “Nature fascinates me—is that a hobby?”

Shrugging, Dean said, “Sure. Why not.”

“What about you?” Cas asked, rearranging his entire body so that he was facing Dean instead of the television.

Flashes of greased metal, gears, and endless tools came to mind. “I mess around with cars. I guess that counts, but I get paid for it.”

“It suits you,” Cas said, and Dean might be crazy, but he swore there was a touch of affection warping the man’s deep voice.

“Uh, thanks.”

In a synchronized move, they each let their attention drift back to the TV. But, this time, when Cas readjusted against the cushions, he sank towards the middle. It couldn't have been on purpose, but it didn’t look casual either. Or maybe that was Dean’s imagination hoping it was intentional.

For a while, there was nothing but the crunchy sounds of chewing, the whistles and grunts from the TV, the hollow splash of nearly empty bottles being drained of beer. Peyton Manning was playing like a champ, and the game was decent all around. None of that had a hope in hell of holding his attention and though his eyes were set on the TV screen like he were engrossed, he was hyper aware of every shift from the body nearby. Fuckin’ guy breathed so damn quiet, Dean half expected to look over at any moment and he’d be gone.

Two beers down, Dean finally started to relax. Confidence in his social abilities and usual prowess when he was interested in someone picked back up and he decided to start up more conversation, eager to find out where all this would lead.

“Hey, so… you like livin’ here?” he wondered.

Turning, Cas replied, “I like it very much. What about you?”

Hmm. For as long as he could remember, Dean didn’t _mind_ living here, in this plain one-bedroom apartment. But it didn’t feel like home. Course all that was too heavy for chit-chat, so he went with, “I guess. It has walls and a roof—what more could a guy want?” A very slight bitter smile accompanied his response. Cas noticed but said nothing.

They looked at each other for a lingering moment, and Dean had the distinct feeling of déjà vu. Out of the blue, he said, “Have we met before?”

Cas’ eyes widened but his expression expediently recovered and he shook his head, muttering, “Of course not. I’m from Idaho.”

Geez, it sounded so friggin’ rehearsed.

For all Dean knew, this guy could be a stalker turned ax murderer, as Sam had jokingly suggested. But he decided to trust his gut. And his gut said that this guy was a good one. More importantly, he believed this man was important somehow. _Really_ important. It didn’t make a lick of sense considering the whole handful of times they’ve been around each other, but there it was.

“Idaho. Right,” he echoed back. Dean shifted on the couch with purpose and forgot about the game playing in the background. There were too many unanswered questions, too many details about Cas that he needed to know. Not because he was unsure about the guy though. For unknown reasons, Dean simply _had_ to know. Every tiny facet of this man’s life was suddenly the most important thing.

And so he dove in with the inquisition. What movies did Cas like? Did he enjoy books of the same genre? Who was his favourite author and why? Each and every response was off, an outright lie, seemingly rehearsed, or so incredibly bizarre that all Dean could do was laugh, and realized that the weird answers to his questions were the ones he loved the most.

When asking Cas about his favourite food, the man didn’t hesitate to spout burgers as being the second greatest gift from God. Dean asked what the first greatest gift was only to have Cas stare back at him with a peculiar distant smile. Ignoring the question, Cas asked him where the best burger place was.

Throughout the conversation, Dean kept thinking that he should ask Cas whether he was into women or men, or both. But every time he called the question to the forefront of his mind, he was too scared to ask. Besides, there were still a shitton of things he hadn’t asked about.

They chatted for so long he didn’t even notice the game had ended and the beer in his hand had gone warm; the cheap beer barely touched. Had it been his third or fourth? He couldn’t remember.

At a break in the flow of conversation, Cas inexplicably stated, “You’re different.”

The air seemed to shift, and something unnameable inside of Dean with it. The rational part of him wanted to snort and be like, _different from what?_ But instead he stared back, wondering how he could be different to a man he didn’t know.

“You expected something else?” he finally said.

“I don’t know.” Cas looked down and Dean realized that he wasn’t the only one feeling something between them. Cas wasn’t acting like a future buddy at all. A shot of confidence struck Dean, and he straightened his back.

“I’ve never met anyone like you,” Dean confessed, hoping those blue eyes would settle on him.

Cas still wouldn’t look up as he spoke. “Oh no?”

“Definitely not.” Dean dragged a breath through his lips and decided to take a leap. “So, uh, about that… I want to go out on a limb here and break this sort of… this rule I have.”

Perplexed, Cas raised his chin and looked Dean in the eye, his curiosity narrowing. “What rule?”

Dean cleared his throat. “Uhh... dating guys.”

Of all the reactions he could’ve anticipated, Cas bursting into a sharp laugh was not even on the short list. “I’m sorry,” Cas apologized, tilted his head and huffed another ripple of laughter. “You want to _date_ me?”

Why the fuck was that funny? Shrinking back, waiting for another abrasive hit of rejection, Dean defensively shot back, “Yeah, what the hell’s wrong with that?!”

“Nothing,” Cas laughed again. “Nothing. It’s just… _never mind._ I, um, I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”

For some dumbass reason, Dean was royally pissed off. “Why the fuck not?”

“The answer to that is far more complex than you could imagine. _Believe me_.”

What a goddamn joke.

Dean stood up, annoyed he’d made a fool of himself. Part of him wasn’t even surprised, like he’d been half expecting to be shut down, knowing deep in his gut that going out on a limb like that had been a terrible fucking idea. Too friggin’ late now. The stupid world needed a serious rewind button for crap like this.

He tried to play it off like there wasn’t something ripping him apart from the inside. “Fine, that’s cool. No worries.”

“Dean—“

“—Nah. Forget about it. Probably a bad idea anyway. I don’t do the guy thing all that seriously. We should just be friends.”

Cas rose to his feet, easing off the couch slowly like he was mentally exhausted and it showed in every limb. “I should go.” Man, why’d the hot guy have to sound so dejected. It wasn’t like he was the one who’d just had a door slammed in his face.

“Sure. Talk to ya later.” Dean couldn’t bring himself to meet Cas’ eyes, so he focused instead on the man’s full mouth. Totally the wrong feature to lock his stare on; those damn perfect thick lips.

There was a long, awkward hesitation that froze the moment. But too soon, Cas was rounding the couch and walking back down the hall. The door shut with a resounding click and Dean was alone. It astounded him how badly he didn’t want to be alone.

He wasn’t stupid, he saw the way Cas had looked at him. There was for sure something there. Fucking _had_ to be! But evidently it didn't matter for shit. Dean tried to not feel so hurt by it.

Fuckin’ Christ. There was no reason for one messy-haired, blue-eyed man to be wreaking havoc on his life like this. Dean tried to force his brain to accept that Cas was no one to him, that he barely knew the guy, that, _sure_ , he was hot, but _come on_ —there was no possible way mere physical attraction was the reason he felt so raw from rejection.

Heck, maybe it was simpler than all that.

It was the first time he’d ever outright asked a guy on a date. He had to admit, it was a big leap for him. Unfortunately, it was a leap that ended in him face-planting asphalt from four storeys up. Metaphorically, anyway.

“Friggin’ hell,” he cursed with a groan. “Stow the emo crap, Campbell,” Dean coached himself. He swore again and debated punching something.

Instead, he cleaned up his apartment.


	5. Chapter 5

“What are we doing here?” asked Sam.

“Finding me an overnight gymnastics partner.”

His brother rolled his eyes.

Dean glanced around the bar. It was a good thirty minute walk from his apartment, but it was the most amazing bar he’d ever been to. It had a pub feel with a dancing section that wasn’t overly rowdy. It had a mix of young adults that didn’t seem to care which side of the fence you were on that night. And best of all, Tuesday nights offered four-dollar draughts.

After getting kicked in the nuts by Cas’ verbal rejection, Dean had avoided the gorgeous man across the hall like he was the damn plague.

One day he’d gotten home from work to find a jar of honey in front of his door. On top there was a note that said, “There was a sale on honey and I bought far too much. Please have some. – Cas.”

A migraine had ripped through his skull and Dean ended up spending the entire night moving from the bed to the toilet.

It was after that he realized that whatever it was about Cas that evidently had the capacity to fuck him up wasn’t healthy and he needed to put those blue eyes in his rear-view. Friends had been a nice concept and all, but Dean wanted proximity that crossed the line of friendship. So, it was better to cut ties and move on.

Part of moving on and forgetting his new neighbor necessitated a good bout of fucking. Hence the visit to the bar.

“Have you had any more seizures?” Sam asked loudly over the noise.

Dean took a sip of his beer. “Not one. Still get headaches though, but I’ll deal.” Naturally, he didn’t tell Sam that he was less than consistent about when he took his meds.

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Sam muttered to himself. “There’s nothing actually _wrong_ with you. At least not what they could tell, and…”

As Sam rambled, Dean made eye contact with a blond, tanned, gorgeous college guy. He was the exact opposite of Dean’s neighbor. Well, one better would’ve been finding a chick, but Dean was in the mood for something a bit rougher. Based on the predatory gleam in the young man’s eye, Dean figured the walking Abercrombie Ad was a decent pick for what he wanted.

Cutting Sam off, Dean clapped his shoulder and said, “Sorry, Sammy, time to pull some night moves.”

His brother snorted and downed the rest of his beer. “Guess that means I’m heading home.”

“Have fun.”

Sam patted his back as he was moving off the stool. “You too, Dean.”

With his brother heading out, Dean pushed through the meagre crowd and worked his way towards the blond.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked when he was close.

The Abercrombie model surveyed him with an appreciative eye and said, “Definitely.”

It didn’t take long after that before Dean leaned in, a little drunker than before, and asked if he wanted to get out of there. They cabbed it back to Dean’s place and by the time they were walking down the hallway on his floor, he was feeling damn ready to get his freakin’ groove on.

Apparently so was A&F. Surely, the guy had an actual name, but Dean decided it wasn’t important. That’s what one night stands were all about.

Anonymous orgasms with strangers. What’s not to love about that?

Dean felt a strong hand grab his ass and he let it. To counter the approach, he shifted and pulled the guy against him for a kiss. An abundance of sharp cologne filled his nose and he recoiled automatically. The smooth way the guy rolled his hips against Dean was also less than enticing. But this was leading somewhere and Dean had decided this was the way to get past his slightly intense crush on his neighbor.

So, he would ignore the aroma overload, and ignore the college guy’s arrogant paws all over him and let his body enjoy some damn sex. And maybe, _hopefully_ , his mind would shut the hell up.

In the midst of the kiss, the man groaned against Dean’s mouth and pushed him back against the wall. That was more than enough lead up for Dean. It’s not like he really cared who the guy was or what they’d talked about. And so what if that made Dean a bit promiscuous and bad-mannered. The last person who slut-shamed him had been politely punched in the face.

Dean broke off the bump’n’grind long enough to unlock his door. They moved inside to continue and Dean avoided looking A&F in the eye as it got heated. This wasn’t about making a damn connection. It was about fucking and nothing more.

Clothes were being taken off. They were progressing towards his bedroom. A prickle of second-guessing wedged in and Dean tried to ignore it. To counter the doubt, he redoubled his enthusiasm and finished getting undressed. Before he knew it, he was on his back and a tanned blond guy was towering over him with a wolfish grin—no doubt excited to get it on.

There was a whole lot of skin on skin, and it gradually started to freak him out. All the hard lines on top of him were just _wrong_. Everything about this was wrong.

Fuck.

Dean silently cursed under the heavy weight of his decision and felt like such a fucking cocktease. Bringing this poor man all the way back to his apartment, get to this point, and then pump the brakes? Pathetic. So goddamned pathetic.

“Hold up,” he said roughly, hands pushing against Abercrombie’s shoulders.

“What? You wanna top?” the guy whispered, grinning at him from above.

Dean shook his head and bit his lip out of guilt. “You’re gonna hate me.”

The delighted smile dropped from the guy’s expression and he hardened his stare. “What?”

“I just… I can’t. I changed my mind.”

Sighing, the man dragged their lower bodies together once and then swore. “ _Now!_? You want to stop _now_?”

Clenching his jaw, Dean tried not to get pissed off that the man was still lying on him. “Yeah. I know it’s a dick move, but sorry. Just not feelin’ it.”

Mr. Tanned and Blond pushed off the bed and kept the annoyed expression plastered to his face as he snatched his clothes off the floor.

Dean _did_ feel bad. “There’s cab money in my jeans’ pocket if you want it.”

“Fuck you.”

And the door slammed.

Once he was alone, he felt stupid. Naked, erection dwindling. What was wrong with him? Sure, his neighbor was hot and weird and captivating. And yeah, okay, he’d been rejected by the gorgeous blue-eyed man. Big freaking whoop. Christ, he needed to man up.

There was no reason for him to have thrown out, um, whatever that dude’s name was. Fuckin’ hell. Despite the few beers in his system already, he decided his level of almost drunk wasn’t enough for the upsurge of emotional whatever-the-fuck.

“What the hell is wrong with me?” he asked, tiredly, staring up at the ceiling.

Pushing himself off the bed, he snagged a pair of soft jogging pants from the floor and stuffed his legs into them. Dean wandered down the hall to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of whiskey from on top of the fridge.

Part of him was on the verge of drinking straight from the bottle, but his dad had done that. Dean didn’t want to be like his dad had been. Fucker had gotten himself and their mother killed in a car accident years ago. So he grabbed a glass from the cupboard and filled it to the rim. Just enough to get him comatose, he thought.

After the first few bracing sips, Dean began to feel numb. It was downright glorious. When he’d swallowed back half of the amount he’d poured, a simmering nugget of perseverance struck him.

“Screw this!” Dean would get himself a damn date with Cas and that was that. There was no other alternative. Fuck rejection, Dean had never been turned down before and he sure as hell wasn’t gonna let that happen when it actually mattered.

Of course, in the back of his mind, he suspected the alcohol was the root cause for his sudden arrogance and unwavering conviction that Cas would absolutely say yes if Dean pleaded his case effectively.

And he thought: Why not get this sorted out right the fuck now?

Placing his drink firmly on the counter, nodding once at it like he was grateful for the pep talk it gave him, he strut towards the door and crossed the narrow hallway. Dean hesitated only a fraction of a second before knocking loudly on the door.

As he waited, he tried to stand tall and strong. Like a fucking man. But he dimly sensed the gentle swaying the alcohol was bringing about. Oh well, as long as he didn’t fall over he was golden.

The door swung inward. Facing him was a very cranky looking Cas; hair disheveled and pajamas wrinkled. God, Dean wanted to wrap the guy up in his arms and kiss him all over.

For now though, he cleared his throat and reset his stance. “Cas.”

“Dean,” the man greeted, his jaw tight. “I heard your date leave rather loudly a little while ago.”

Dean scoffed. “Definitely _not_ a date.”

Tipping his head, Cas went, “Hmm,” and proceeded to peruse Dean’s expression at his leisure, eyes shifting lower as he noticed how half-naked Dean was. Finally, he met Dean’s green eyes and asked, “What are you doing here half-dressed at two in the morning?”

Balling his hands into fists, Dean puffed out his chest; reaffirming his earlier disgruntled status at being rejected and demanded, “Who _are_ you?”

Cas flinched and blinked back at him. It took a beat but he replied, “I’m just… _Cas_.” Like that was the only answer that Dean would need.

It wasn’t nearly enough.

Dean squinted against an oncoming migraine and kept pushing. “Right. Well, you’re messin’ with my head, man. I like you, Cas. I freaking _really_ like you and I’m pretty damn sure you like me—So what’s the deal?”

“I told you,” Cas said as if he were scraping the words unwillingly from his throat. “It’s far too complicated. Trust me that I’m not what you want.”

“Don’t tell me what I want,” Dean shot back. “None of this BS, man. Do you like me or not? Answer the damn question.”

Because he was so fixated on every subtle move, he noticed Cas swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the motion. Glancing away from Dean, Cas shifted his weight and licked his lips the way someone does when their whole mouth is dry.

“It doesn’t matter,” Cas spoke low. “You don’t know anything about me. You wouldn’t want to date me if you knew everything.”

Dean steamrolled past that crap. “Flawed argument, buddy. Of course I don’t know anything about you, _hence_ the whole point of dating. Duh! Are you—“

“—Dean”

“Hey now, let me finish. Are you going to murder me or attempt to sexually torture me?”

Cas stepped back like he’d been backhanded. “Of course not! Why would I—“

“Perfect,” Dean cut him off. “So date me. One date. C’mon. I can’t stop thinking about you, and I am _not_ like this. I don’t get caught up by mysterious good-lookin’ strangers like this. I gotta say, it’s annoying as all hell.”

Dean held Cas’ cautious stare, waiting for the man to say something. When the silence itched on, Dean leaned closer and simply said, “ _Come on_ … you know you want to,” in the most teasing, seductive tone he could muster.

Startling him, Cas laughed. “You’re so stubborn.”

“I know.” Dean smiled.

“This is a bad idea.” Oh, the sweet scent of victory.

“Or an awesome one,” argued Dean, grinning in triumph.

Cas’ shoulders slumped and he groaned. “Dean, do me one thing. Promise me that you’ll remember I tried to say no. Unfortunately… it would seem that I’m, _as always_ ,”—he said grudgingly—“willing to concede to your wishes. However ironic they may be.”

Yeah, okay. Whatever the hell that all meant. What Dean did next, he blamed completely on the booze. Throwing his arms up in the air, he yelled, “ _Woohoo!_ My mission was a success.”

Cas squinted at him. “I think you’re very drunk. Go to bed Dean.”

“Fine.” Dean pointed at Cas. “But you better not renege on me.”

“Goodnight Dean,” Cas said tiredly, but the barest of smiles teased the shape of his mouth and Dean couldn’t help but beam back at him.

“Night Cas.”


	6. Chapter 6

“Don’t forget to start working on your outlines for the essay. It’ll come up on you fast and you don’t want to leave it to the last minute,” said Sam, making sure to eye each row of students.

Passive nods bobbed throughout the lecture hall and soon, all of the young people were packing up and filing out up the wide progressive steps towards the double doors at the back of the room.

Sam stared up at the slowly emptying room and his eyes zeroed in on one individual hanging back, slumped in their lecture hall seat, legs sprawled wide and head bent forward.

He groaned. Yet another slacker that fell asleep.

He packed away all his materials and started heading towards the straggler. By the time he was halfway to the back of the room he realized it wasn’t a student at all.

Sam nudged his brother’s shoulder. “The student look suits you.”

Raising his head, Dean smiled and it was obvious he’d had a long night. Of course, that’s what happens when you take people home from the bar.

“Ya think? Excellent class, professor.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “I’m a TA, Dean, not a professor.”

“Same diff. You got some time?”

“What’s up?” Sam took the seat next to his brother, his one leg stretched out into the aisle.

“I have a date.”

“With the College guy?”

Dean shook his head. “No, no. I have this, uh, weird crush on my neighbor.”

Sam thought back to Dean’s overview of the new tenant. “The one who might be an ax-murderer?”

His brother laughed. “Yeah, well, I’m ninety percent sure he won’t kill me. But you know I’ve never been really into _dating_ guys. But this one, I don’t know man, he’s just _different._ ”

“Different, _like_ , makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside?” asked Sam, chuckling a little.

Searching his brother’s expression, it was interesting to see the change in Dean. He’d always been a bit distant, like part of him never bothered to participate in life. But now, there was a gleam of hope in Dean’s vibrant green eyes.

“Fuck you,” Dean shot back with an affectionate tone. “But yeah, something like that. So what the hell should I do?”

Confused, Sam narrowed his focus to Dean’s eyes. “Uh, go on the date?”

“Wow. Amazing pep talk, Sammy. You’re giving Ellen a run for her money. Seriously, dude, I’m in uncharted territory here. I friggin like this guy and we’re going on a date tonight and I don’t know what the hell to do.”

“Oh my god. Someone alert the press. My big brother Dean is asking for dating advice. This is drastic! Shit, you must be like, in love or something.”

Dean cursed at him again and simply said, “You managed to get Ree to marry you so I figure you gotta know something.”

Ree Forrester (now Campbell) had been a feisty brunette in Sam’s first undergrad class. The two had hit it off immediately and their relationship did the usual dance and before he knew it, he had wound up on one knee in the middle of the hallway in third year after their last exam. At the time, he hadn’t even had a ring, just an unshakeable desire to start a domestic life.

Sam smiled arrogantly, because Dean was absolutely right. He patted Dean’s knee and said, “Alright, Dean, first thing’s first. What are you doing for the date? Movies, dinner?”

Dean blew out a breath and eyed the ceiling as though it had answers. “I don’t know! Everything seems lame. I left him a note this morning that said to come by around seven. Beyond that… I’ve got nothin’. Why else do you think I showed up to your stupid eight a.m. class.”

“Hey, don’t knock the class. These kids love me.”

Groaning, Dean eyed him with growing irritation. “Yeah, only cause they’re big dumb nerds like you. You gonna help me out or what?”

“Of course.”

Where to start? Sam wondered.

…

By the time Dean left Stanford campus, he had a plan. Well, he had Sammy’s plan. And it was a damn good one. It wasn’t too cliché, but it wasn’t likely to be boring. The only downside was that he had a feeling they’d be the only adult men there.

As he took the bus home, he made a call into the place to make sure they’d be able to get in for a decent time slot. After that? Maybe a beer somewhere, as Sam suggested. That was normal and everything.

God, he was nervous.

Dean got home and bounded up the stairs to his floor. In his apartment he went to the kitchen and took out the leftover joint he’d stashed. Hopefully, it would help him relax and chill the fuck out.

The dull buzz carried him through part of the day but it didn’t last all that long and by the time he forced himself to eat dinner, shower, and pick out something to wear, he was jittery and starting to sweat. Which made finding appropriate clothes even more annoying.

Considering what they’d be doing, he chose his most comfortable pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and threw on a zip-up hoodie that Sam had bought for his birthday that year. It was something he could easily shuck off when he got there.

The knock on the door came at ten to seven. It suddenly occurred to Dean that he’d have to ask Cas to drive or they would be taking the bus. Man, not having a license really made him feel like a loser.

For some reason, he didn’t think Cas would mind.

Dean pulled the door open with a little too much enthusiasm and his sweaty palm lost its grip on the handle and the whole heavy thing swung out and smacked against the wall.

They both winced. Dean leaned around the door and checked the wall for damage. Big fat hole in the drywall. Dean shrugged. “Oh well, the landlords a dick.”

Taking a step back, Cas put his hands in his pockets, grinned softly and said, “Our date begins with slight destruction. I have to say, I’m not entirely surprised.”

It made Dean chuckle, the exchange relieving some built tension in his shoulders. “And to think we haven’t even really started yet.”

They smiled and Dean moved out in the hall, checked he had his wallet and locked the door. As he turned back to Cas, he made a face. “Uh, this might be a little unconventional but do you mind driving? I kinda had my license taken away due to my apparent medical condition.”

Most of Cas’ initial cheer dropped away and a grave expression took over. He muttered something too low for Dean to hear, but it sounded like an apology. Before Dean could say anything else, Cas seemed to mentally shove it off and faced Dean with a slightly false smile. “Yes, absolutely. Where are we going?”

Dean elbowed Cas genially as they walked down the hall. “And spoil the surprise? Don’t be crazy. By the way... you ever hunted before?”

As if there’d been an invisible barrier in the hallway, Cas stopped short. Narrowing his eyes, he stared at Dean with the most bizarre expression. Dean imagined he’d get the same look if he’d suddenly grown a tree out of his eyeball.

“I’m supposed to be the one with the brain issues but you look a droid shutting down. Did I say something wrong? Oh god, please tell me no one in your family was accidentally killed on a hunting trip?”

Well, Cas’ expression _minimally_ changed. Only difference was that his eyeballs might boing out of his head any minute.

Dean started to panic. Oh crap, how was this date failing so spectacularly already!? They weren’t even out of the building! “Um, shit, please say something. I’m sorry, it’s just what we’re doing, it helps if you’re a good shot, ya know.”

All at once, Cas recovered and stiffened his posture. “You’re asking if I’ve ever hunted animals?”

Now Dean was the one pulling some weirdo expressions. He went with sarcasm. “No... I’m asking if you routinely go out on human killing sprees because I thought it would helpful in laser tag! Man, you are so lucky you’re good lookin’!”

Cas frowned. “What’s laser tag?”

“See, now you’ve ruined the surprise! C’mon,” Dean grabbed his stupid cardigan by the sleeve and started pulling Cas down the hall.

They headed into the rear parking lot that wasn’t much bigger than the floorplate of the building itself. It meant that a good chunk of residents didn’t even have a space. Dean still paid for his spot even though the car was at the shop. He gave the empty #17 space a longing look and sighed.

When he saw Cas head towards a car, he slowed his steps and started laughing. “This is your ride? Please tell me it was it from your cousin?”

Already, Cas was halfway to getting into the car, he looked at Dean over the window. “If you make fun of my car, you’re walking.”

Oh, snap! Dean smiled wide and kept his head down as he walked to the passenger seat of the freaking Aerostar minivan. He waited about five minutes into the drive, casually providing the directions until he just couldn’t take it.

“Cas, uh, why do you have a minivan? Do you have a stashed family somewhere and you’re hoping I’ll be your mistress?”

Without hesitation, Cas blandly stated, “A mistress is a woman, Dean.”

“Don’t sass me with semantics. There has _got_ to be a reason you have a minivan.”

The man rolled his eyes (an interesting picture with the whole cardigan, minivan thing) and firmly replied, “It was the cheapest option. I was not aware a ‘ _minivan’_ had such negative connotations.”

As he was driving, Cas air-quoted with one hand. Dean just sat there and couldn’t step checking the guy over, thinking, _Who are you?_ and _Are you even real?!_

It was another ten minutes before they were pulling into the laser tag parking lot. They were scheduled for the seven-thirty set. And hopefully, there’d be a good mix of people.

...

Just my luck, Dean thought, as he sized up his itty-bitty competition. Other than three prepubescent dweebs, it was Dean and Cas, and the other six were a mix of five to eight year olds. Good God, hopefully he wouldn’t step on any of ‘em. Christ, the youngest was barely higher than his knee!

It was no surprise that Cas shot him odd looks from the corner of his eye. During the entire explanation bit in the prep room, Dean sensed Cas’ uncertainty rising like a blender.

“It’s cool, don’t worry,” he whispered to the side.

The light grip of Cas’ hand on his elbow had him bending his ear so Cas could whisper back. “What are we expected to do with these children?”

Dean grinned and brought his lips towards Cas’ ear, “Kill them all!” he exclaimed, following it up with his best evil laugh.

No reaction at all. Geez, tough crowd this one. Dean relented, “Okay, it’s just a game man. After this guy’s done yammering about rules, we put on these vest things and they give us fake guns that work with the vests, and we’ll be in a team with some of those little buggers and we have to take out all these other guys. It’s fun!”

“I don’t understand the point.”

As aggravated as Dean was at Cas’ apparent lack of enthusiasm, the strange oddities of the man were profoundly appealing to him. Clearly, Dean’s type happened to be ‘ _weird dudes who live three feet away from me’._

“Just have fun. We’ll get beers after, k?”

Cas nodded and looked resigned. You’d think Dean was asking him to do his taxes.

They finally got geared up and placed by the door, waiting for the light to go off that indicated they were clear to go in. Dean and Cas were on the team with the five year old nugget and two of his older brothers. They were the “red” team, and the others were donned in yellow and black.

He felt better about having the youngin' on their team, finding that he’d rather protect the kid from fake guns than have to shoot at him.

The second they moved through the door, he flipped into attack mode and got his gun ready and swiftly moved across the dimly lit combat maze. There were low walls, hidden nooks, ladders, and even sloped paths that ran under some of the walls. In five seconds flat, he had a good lay of the land and picked out all the probable hiding spots.

Dean felt Cas behind him but he stayed quiet. The other members of their team had split off and that was fine by him.

Within the first few minutes, they rounded one of the moderately high walls and turned the corner to see a square enclosure several feet ahead. Dean would’ve bet his nutsac there were kiddies hiding in there. Twisting back, he motioned for Cas to move up and gave silent commands for them to progress together and keep low.

They worked well together, he noted. Cas skulked along with him, not once asking for clarification on the plan. As they approached, Dean figured the opening was on the far side. In a quick series of hand gestures, Dean conveyed that they split up and go around to cover both sides.

Something about all this felt familiar, and not because he’d come here a few times with Sam. He shrugged it off and parted from Cas to move around the stout walls.

On the far side, he pressed himself against the unpainted drywall, saw Cas moving from the corner of his eye and they both inched closer and closer to the gap in the middle. Turning in the same swift motion, they aimed their guns inside.

Sure enough, one kid was bunkered down. Dean fired his gun and heard the little electronic _pew-pew_ and the guy’s lit-up vest flickered and shut off.

“That’s one!”

“Ah!” stated Cas, suddenly beside him. “I think I understand now. We’re playing… like children.”

The youngin’ inside, all grumpy now, scowled and marched off. On a whim, Dean dragged Cas into the enclosure. “Don’t say it like that, Mr. Minivan. There’s nothing wrong with having some slightly immature fun. Well, unless this is absolutely not your thing. Did I fuck it up?”

If it turned out Cas hated laser tag, Dean was demanding that Sam buy him a case of beer.

Thankfully, Cas’ frame relaxed and he smiled. “No, of course not. I just wasn’t sure what to expect. I’ve never played laser tag. But, actually, I’m quite enjoying this.”

“Oh.” Dean smiled. “Well good. But we’re not done yet, and you better not get me killed,” he teased, pointing his plastic gun at Cas’ chest. The sudden notion of pushing Cas against the back wall and having his way with him sprung to Dean’s mind.

He might’ve done just that, had it not been for the sudden serious expression slapped to Cas’ face.

“I would never,” Cas vowed. The conviction seemed to go beyond their simple game of laser tag. Heck, Dean almost believed for a half second that Cas was some kind of Superhero. Which was, actually, kind of a turn on…

Dean opened his mouth to say something back (expertly flirtatious and witty of course), but they heard the patter of tiny running shoes coming their way. He almost pulled the trigger when he saw the pipsqueak but realized it was the nugget on their own team. “Hey,” he said. “Ya see where some of the others are?”

“Yeah!” the kid said, already out of breath. “On the farthest side I think. Over there!” He pointed high over his head to the left.

“Alright boys, let’s go get ‘em!”

The three of them stalked their way across the space. One of the lanky thirteen year old's jumped out and almost got the one up on Cas, but surprising him, Cas twisted to the side to shield his vest and pulled the trigger before the other kid could. “I don’t think so,” he stated dryly.

Dean laughed. Man, he was liking this guy more and more.

They made it to the far side, where only a wall separated them from a section near the back. This area had one of those sloping halls with a gap underneath. There was also a platform up a few steps a ways down. A plan began to form.

“Are your buddies already out?” he asked the kid, who nodded back.

“Ok, there are at least four on the other side, hopefully less. I’ve got a plan though.”

Dean laid out his expert attack plan, which involved Cas taking position on the upper platform. Dean moving in around the side, and the kid sliding in under the wall. This was going to be epic.

The kid stuck his little hand in for a quick team cheer and Dean realized he was thoroughly enjoying himself. He hoped Cas was too.

Dean placed his hand over the kid’s and raised his eyebrows at Cas. Fighting a smile, Cas placed his hand on top of Dean’s.

The instant contact was made, a low energy ripped through his veins. It almost felt the same as the time he’d snorted coke just to try it. But what was more distracting was the heat radiating against his chest. Dean figured his vest was malfunctioning. When he glanced down, it seemed fine.

Entranced, he found Cas’ eyes again and just stared. Man, Cas was fucking hot.

They were clearly too distracted by each other and the young boy lost his patience. The kid lamely said, “Go Team,” and shoved his hand up, which broke the connection between Dean and his super weirdo neighbor.

Part of him wanted to kiss Cas for good luck or something, but he held back and gave the guy a crooked smile before he backed up and turned to head down the hallway. It grew darker here and he turned towards the way he came to watch Cas sneak up the platform. His expression had hardened into a battle worthy sexiness.

Dean shook himself to get back in the game or he would risk losing to a bunch of wieners and that would be pathetic.

In the end, they were triumphant. All three dove into the scheming remaining three and even though it was an even fight, Cas and Dean were very efficient shooters. Dean reluctantly let the kid have the final shot.

He knew the older snot-nosed kid could’ve used his gun but Dean had given him a pretty steely look, that basically said: Let the little kid get one or I beat you up outside. Sure enough, the dude lowered his gun and let himself be killed by a six-year old.

At that point, all the overhead lights came on, and a path lit up on the ground to guide them to the exit. Which wasn’t the same way they came in.

By the time they were back in the car, Dean was feeling pretty lighthearted. It nagged him that he was sitting in the passenger seat though. Every time he settled his gaze on Cas behind the wheel, it just all looked so wrong somehow.

“What now?” Cas prompted him, hands at the ten and two position. Such a dork.

“Wanna go for a drink?” It was a shame Cas was driving, because Dean had a feeling he would be an interesting drunk. Either get all crabby or be really giddy. Or maybe, Dean hoped, Cas might be a horny drunk.

“Sure. Left or right?” Cas asked when he’d pulled his hideous minivan to the mouth of the parking lot.

“Right, Captain!” Dean pointed and loved the small chuckle he got out of Cas for that.

As dates went, this was turning out to be the weirdest he’d been on. There was no particular reason for it, other than the fact that he found the man himself to be weird. But hey, it worked for him.

Heading in the general direction back to the apartment, he pointed to one of the chain restaurant-by-day, pub-by-night places. It took eight whole minutes to find a suitable parking spot. That’s not to say that it was jam-packed. There _were_ open spots near the doors. But Cas was adamant they wouldn’t fit his monstrous hideous machine on wheels. Dean’s description of course.

Most of the patrons on the bar side were young and he felt more comfortable because of it. It _was_ his first real date with a guy and everything. Dean probably wouldn’t have been able to handle old truckers giving him the hairy eyeball. That would go one of two ways. Both would’ve involved a bar brawl. The only real difference would be whether or not he won.

They took the only two open stools left and sat down. Dean looked over at Cas and smiled. “What’ll it be?”

“Surprise me.”

The waiter placed a few drinks in front of some customers down the end and bustled over to take their order. Dean figured if they did get drunk they could take the bus home. God knows he had enough tickets to last him a lifetime. So he ordered two beers and two shots of something called The Burt Reynolds.

“We’re doing shots?” Cas’ eyebrows popped up like he was wondering where Dean was planning to take this.

He gave his neighbor a wicked grin, “C’mon. We’re reasonably young and have all night. Get a little buzzed with me?”

The amber shots were set in front of them like a challenge. Neither looked down. Dean was too caught up in how Cas was staring at him.

Without looking, Cas reached for his shot and expertly threw it down the hatch. He shivered and licked his lips. “Mmm, that’s incredible!” Not asking for permission, Cas grabbed what was supposed to be Dean’s shot and downed that too.

“I guess that means I should order more.”

Cas nodded. “Yes, you should try it. I’m positive you’ll like it.” Eyes flicking down, Cas scrutinized the glass. It had a small puddle of the shot left in the bottom well. He held it for Dean to take. “There’s some left.”

Dean laughed and called the bartender back over. He leaned in to Cas and said, “Man, as badly as I want to kiss you, and believe me when I say very badly, I’m not drinking your backwash.”

A blush crept into Cas’ cheeks and he said, “You want to kiss me?” in a way that made it sound as though he couldn’t believe such a preposterous notion.

The bartender had bustled over and Dean ordered two more shots. After taking a few sips of his beer he moved his left hand under the generous overhang of the bar and rested it on Cas’ knee. “If I didn’t want to kiss you, I probably wouldn’t have asked you out on a date.”

“You didn’t so much as _ask_ for the date,” Cas qualified. “It was more of a begging if I remember correctly.”

Not that he was ashamed, Dean still retaliated with a sharp squeeze of Cas’ knee. It got a flinch out of the guy. Dean wondered what he’d get if he moved his hand further back. A shudder maybe? Hmmm. Maybe he should wait until they’ve been in the bar longer than ten minutes. No need for things to get out of control before he could place an order for appetizers.

After forty minutes, they’d each had a beer and three shots. The Burt Reynolds was smooth as fuck. If they bottled this stuff, Dean would be an alcoholic in a heartbeat.

There wasn’t anything groundbreaking on the appetizer menu and he figured nachos were safe since Cas didn’t seem to have a preference.

They talked about their jobs and things that they enjoyed. Of the two of them, Dean had more information to offer up for conversation. Cas was inexplicably short on stories. Over the course of the date, Dean started to think that Cas was somehow becoming more of a mystery than less of one.

Other than his cousin, Cas mentioned no other family. Or as he put it: None that he really knew anymore. Both of them were sparse about growing up stories. It’s not as if Dean didn’t remember his childhood, but it seemed fuzzy. He figured that’s probably the way every adult saw their childhood. Age and maturity clouding over the memories of youth.

And Cas. Well, the man’s contribution to the ‘When I was a kid,’ part of the story-swap, was one simple statement: “ _I didn’t have a childhood.”_

The strange comment wasn’t only strange because of the words themselves, but because it wasn’t said in a way that alluded to some horrific tragedy that had robbed him of a childhood, but more as an absolute fact. As if the perpetually tousled, minivan-driving man had just sprouted into existence like a goddamned fairy.

Dean let it slide. Cas had a lot of weird things to say. As they chatted and ate their nachos, Cas mechanically picked off the black olives, piling them neatly on Dean’s side of the dish.

As another slimy black olive was being carted across the dish by Cas’ exquisite fingers, Dean finally decided to lay down the law. Olive-wise, that is. With a swat of his hand, he said, “You know I don’t want your stinky olives, right?”

“But you like olives.”

Why the hell was Cas so damn sure he liked olives?

Leaning a little on the bar, he searched Cas’ face. The guy wasn’t looking at him but perusing the plate for a perfect bite. As he’d learned by now, Dean was positive Cas would take the one with the most cheese on it.

“What exactly makes you think I like olives, I haven’t eaten any of these.” But it was the oddest personal quirk, wasn’t it? Dean _did_ enjoy olives, actually. But only on pizza.

After he spoke, Cas went so still he could’ve passed for a statue. Dean sensed a weird current slide between them. Something was off. And it hit him as it had before; that feeling of disruption inside his soul. Because in the depths of his mind, he knew that it made sense for Cas to know what he liked. That it made all the sense in the world for Cas to know everything.

But he didn’t _know_ how he knew that. It was a riddle he wasn’t capable of unriddling.

“Cas,” he started, his eyes set on their target, worry building in his gut. “What’s going on?” As he posed the question, he didn’t feel like he was the same man. The timeline he perceived of his own life felt tenuous and unclear. His heartbeat thumped erratically, his pulse climbing into the hundreds.

A passing errant thought about how this man was undoubtedly increasing his chances for a heart attack roamed across his mind. Wasn’t dating supposed to be good for a man’s health?  

His neighbor finally met his eyes and leaned close. “Do you trust me?”

The answer was immediate. “Yes.”

“Close your eyes, Dean.”

Again, he reacted automatically and let his lids fall. He wasn’t sure what to expect but the warmth of Cas’ palm over his chest wasn’t it. A distant corner of his mind was wondering what they must’ve looked like to the crowded bar. Every other conscious thought was tuned into the heat warming him from the inside.

The touch lingered in a never-ending warmth, every thought falling apart at the seams leaving nothing but peace.

Dean never felt Cas pull away. Just as he couldn’t say how long he sat there after with his eyes shut. But when he opened them, his mind was clear of everything but the moment, and the headache he’d felt blooming was gone. Every dull ache that he swore plagued his body only minutes ago had vanished as well.

There were words on the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t know them yet. Cas pretended nothing had happened and lifted a cheese-loaded bite to Dean’s lips.

“Eat,” he commanded.

There was no reason to protest, so he opened his mouth and let Cas shove the nacho in it.

Fucking thing was delicious too. Best bite of the whole plate for sure.

Things swerved their way back to normal, and like a lot of things these days, Dean compartmentalized it and placed his hand under the bar to rest it on Cas’ thigh, suddenly needing touch to confirm this blue-eyed wonder was real.

He caught the flinch it elicited but smiled when the side of Cas’ mouth quirked in the corner.

Conversation resumed. As did a heated debate about cult classic movies. And then a discussion about the most popular documentaries.

He discovered Cas was in the middle of reading Paper Towns. When Dean shot him a look and demanded to know why he was reading from the YA section of the book store, Cas (getting a little tipsy, Dean thought) slammed his beer down and said, “It was on a bestseller list, if you must know.”

Dean raised his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I’m not knockin’ it. But now I’m picturing you cuddled up in bed reading Twilight and I just can’t scrub that image from my mind. Oh wait, don’t tell me you’re into Harlequin. I’ll end this date right here and now.”

Was it hypocritical if Dean himself had once taken a bath and read an entire romance novel in one sitting? Probably.

By the time he stopped talking, Cas was chuckling softly and looking at him. “No, I haven’t taken that plunge. The covers are something else though.”

At the calm break in conversation that followed, Cas lowered his arm into his lap and let his hand shift out until his fingers brushed Dean’s hand on his thigh.

The contact had the same sizzling sensation as it had at the laser tag place and Dean had half a mind to drag Cas into an empty closet and get some PG-friendly action started.

“Want to get some shots for the road?” asked Dean.

He was pretty damn sure they both felt that it was time to go.

Cas’ face scrunched up. “What about my car?”

There were more than enough bus tickets in his wallet but Dean took one look at Cas, with his blue eyes and ruffled brown hair and his stupid cardigan and couldn’t stand the idea of putting such a perfect creature on public transit. The apartment was only a thirty-minute walk. At most forty, if they took their time.

“We’ll walk then. Come get it tomorrow morning.”

There was some reluctance, but Cas relented and told Dean that he’d be in a lot of trouble if that minivan was stolen come morning. Dean had to disappoint Cas with the news that no one in their right mind would steal that thing.

Dean paid and they walked out into the night. It was calm and the temperature hovered somewhere in the low-seventies.

It was quiet between them for a couple blocks. Not comfortable really, but not annoyingly jarring either. Dean wanted to hear Cas’ voice, realizing that it soothed him in ways he didn’t understand.

His brain scoured over their last few interactions and he came up with something to ask about. “I know you probably won’t tell me because you’re going with the whole mysterious hot stranger thing but how come you were so adamant about not dating me. Your… rejection kind of felt… uh, _specific_.”

Cas stopped and faced him. “I wasn’t rejecting you, Dean.”

That wasn’t even close to an answer so he simply stared back and waited for more to come.

“I can’t give you an honest explanation. I wish I could. _Trust me_.” Cas’ eyebrows dented inward as he thought over something and took a breath to elaborate. “Let me put it this way: If you lived a life and made decisions in that life, and it changed the context of something, you’d remember those events even if the world was different, right?”

Was this some kind of convoluted physics test? “I don’t follow.”

The longer they stared at each other, alone on the street, he noticed how familiar it felt. Cas wore a helpless expression and it was obvious to Dean that he absolutely did wish he could be honest about whatever it was he couldn’t be honest about. It should’ve worried Dean.

Truth was, he didn’t truly care.

“How about this,” he suggested. “Say something one-hundred percent true and we can keep walking.”

“You are one of the most important humans on the planet.”

Dean searched his neighbor’s eyes for some hidden meaning but found nothing. “But not one of the most important animals,” he joked.

With an adorable smile, Cas said, “Well, no. That would be Ham.”

“Ham’s okay. Bacon is way better though. I mean, c’mon now.”

Cas rolled his eyes, “I don’t mean pork, Dean. I mean the chimp.”

They continued walking and Cas told him about the monkey that went successfully into space. He was sure he’d heard of that but again, his older memories had a blurry quality to them. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t worried that there might be more wrong in his brain than a simple MRI scan could show.

Somewhere along the way, Cas had taken his hand and Dean had done a crap job of hiding his reaction to it. Which was to say, he blushed, tripped on the sidewalk and then glared at Cas in the hopes of ensuring he wasn’t made fun of.

“Always surprising me,” stated Cas.

“Am I?”

“In a pleasant way, I promise.”

When they reached the apartment building, Dean unlocked the front doors and the second set of front doors on the far side of the vestibule.

They climbed the stairs together and Dean started to get knots in his stomach, his mind spinning about whether they would part ways down the hall or veer off together into one of their apartments.

After giving it some thought over the length of time it took him to climb three flights of stairs, he decided something inside him wasn’t ready for that kind of open-ended invitation. And yet, he thought (wholly disgusted with himself) he’d had no qualms about bringing a stranger back for the purposes of fucking and nothing more a very short while ago.

Come to think of it, Dean wasn’t even prepared to kiss the man beside him. He was scared to. Obviously not the ‘I’m-afraid-of-monsters’ scared but more ‘what-if-fall-in-love-with-you’ scared.

Or worse, what if he already was. And yes, he realized the insanity of such a thought after one fucking date. It didn’t mean that he wasn’t feeling some crazy shit stirring in his emotional command centre. If it were a physical space, there would be goddamn alarms going off.

They reached their respective apartments and faced off in the centre of the hallway.

“Before I say what I’m gonna say, I fully acknowledge the hypocrisy of it.” Cas nodded warily, so Dean went on, “I can be kind of a slut. And that doesn’t bother me. But as much as I want to kiss you, and throw you on my bed and…” The image struck him and Dean nearly forgot where he was. It took a slow breath before he could march on with the spiel. “…And do things I would never think twice about doing any other time with anyone else. With you… it’s just _different_. I can’t rush things.”

Cas didn’t seem surprised, or bothered whatsoever. His reaction didn’t involve words, either. In a comfortable approach, he stepped into Dean’s space and wound his arms around Dean’s middle and pressed his cheek against Dean’s.

The whispered, “Goodnight Dean,” made him shiver and he knew he felt smooth lips graze his jaw for a split second.

It was probably ten minutes later that he realized he was alone in the hallway and Cas had disappeared into his own apartment.

The daze of Cas’ proximity lingered on him and he got ready for bed on autopilot. Dean had no idea what time it was, or what day it was. And it didn’t matter, which was the best part. When he was stripped down to boxers and brushing his teeth, he loosely stared at the reflection in the mirror. It wasn’t his face he fixated on, but the odd red mark between his pecs where the glass vial normally rested. He still wore it, but it had shifted and the mark was visible.

Maybe the contents were leaking, he thought; irritating his skin or something. Not bothered by it, he fixed the necklace so it was centred and rinsed his mouth out.

Lying in bed that night, Dean let his hand move down between his legs. There wasn’t any kind of urgency or clawing need for release as there was some nights. But he wanted… _touch_.

Plain and simple.

His hand wasn’t number one on the draft list, but that’s why God had given him the power of imagination.

Arousal presented itself in different ways he’d learned over the years. Sometimes it snuck up on you; coming on fast and leaving just as quickly. Other times it was exponential, building on itself until the pressure of it exceeded your ability to contain it.

This time, Dean elusively noticed, as he strained on the bed with his hand sliding over his cock, that it was slow and even. He was feverish from head to toe and the rash or burn at the centre of his chest was hotter than anywhere else.

Nothing escalated towards the indications of an orgasm. The pleasure lazily rolled through him, and he let his hand continue to move at a pace that calmed him rather than pushed him over.

Some distant part of him felt sad. He had no context for the feeling so he let it be. It wasn’t strong enough to damper the thrum of arousal pulsing in him.

Dean knew he was getting tired, maybe even falling asleep. His eyes were closed when he brought his left hand to his mouth and sucked one of his fingers.

Moving his hand between his legs, he shifted until he could reach and pressed his index inside himself as much as he was able. There was no real effort to pump in and out, he just needed to feel more. At his hips, his right hand continued to make lazy passes up and down his erection, his finger stroking the underside and his thumb rubbing at the ridge on the way up.

When he finally started to come, it was like rolling heatwaves were passing through his whole body. He’d stopped stroking and just squeezed, his finger crooked a little inside before he let his hand fall beside him.

Dean hadn’t meant to, but he fell asleep in seconds.

Waking up the next morning, it was clear that the orgasm was slightly more explosive than it had felt. That is, if the crusty clump in his hair was anything to go by.


	7. Chapter 7

After his shift at the shop the next day, Dean had decided to spend the night cleaning out his fridge and organizing his finances. It wasn’t the most spectacular evening plan on the planet but it beat sitting on the couch binge watching some TV show that would inevitably remind him of the man across the hall.

Besides, after taking the bus home and showering, he wandered into the kitchen wearing loose boxers at seven-thirty. And he was due at the shop again at seven tomorrow morning, so there wasn’t a whole ton of ‘free’ time to speak of.

He munched on crackers and leftover Naan and butter chicken from the Indian takeout the guys had ordered at lunch. Dean wasn’t normally keen on foreign food but damn, Indian food was good. Spicy and warm and filling. What more could a man want?

He was wiping the counters down with one hand and sucking butter-chicken sauce off the fingers of his other when there was a knock on his door. A knock he was beginning to find very familiar and welcome.

There were a few seconds of hesitation in the hallway because he was barely dressed. Dean raced back to his room and grabbed the first thing that looked like a shirt and threw it on.

Twisting all the locks with efficiency, he whipped the door open and realized he probably looked a little frazzled.

“Were you busy?” Cas peeked over his shoulder into the apartment. Was Cas scoping for other chicks or dudes? That would be kind of sweet.

“Uh.” With a nervous hand, Dean tried to pat down his half-dried hair and straighten the shirt he’d—

Oh shit. “Please ignore my shirt,” he said quickly. “And hi. I’m just cleaning and snacking. Come on in.” In his head, he was cursing Sam to hell for buying the stupid t-shirt. It was from one of those super random stores that sold dragon figurines and incense and crystals and weird t-shirts with dumbass sayings on them. This particular dumbass shirt said, “Just Fuck Me Up.”

Obviously it was meant to imply getting shit-faced. But when you answered the door and found last night’s date standing at your threshold, it could probably be taken a different way.

“It’s, um, colouful.” Trying to hide his grin, Cas ducked his head and stepped inside, moving past Dean and into the kitchen.

“Yeah. Sam thinks he’s funny, but he’s not.”

“A gift from Sam?”

“My brother, yeah.” Dean stood against the stove and wished his apartment wasn’t the mess that it was. Hadn’t he cleaned two days ago? Man, how did this disaster happen so quickly? “Um, sorry I’m a slob, do you want naan?”

Why the hell did being around Cas make him sound like such an idiot?

Cas pointed to the flat bread and Dean nodded. “Dip it in the sauce there. Super delicious.”

As Cas tried a few bites and seemed to enjoy it, Dean scrutinized him and wondered why he was visiting. Not that he wasn’t happy about it, but he’d prefer to know if there was something going on. Geez, he hoped Cas wasn’t over here to say he wanted to cut things short on their adventure into dating.

“Visiting for any particular reason, or just wanted to see me?” he teased.

Cas smiled and licked some sauce off the back of his hand. “Is it embarrassing if I say the latter?”

Shaking his head and laughing a little Dean said, “No. But you’re supposed to wait three days, ya know.”

“For what?” Cas straightened from his lean over the counter and tilted his head at Dean.

Getting the distinct impression that an explanation of the comment would take longer than he cared for, he just brushed it off. “Nevermind.” With an indulgent smile, he crossed the kitchen and leaned next to Cas. “So, what’s up?”

The gorgeous blue-eyed neighbor reached up between them and brushed the pad of his thumb against the side of Dean’s mouth. Whatever sauce had been on his face was now getting sucked into Cas’ mouth.

Dean sincerely prayed that hadn’t been stuck on his face since lunch time. Oh right, he’d showered! Phew. That would’ve been gross.

“I thoroughly enjoyed our date,” said Cas.

“Yeah? Me too.”

Staring with loaded expectation, they both waited for the inevitable prompt for another date. Cas caved before he did and he secretly loved it.

“Can we go out again? Maybe… maybe tonight? If that’s okay.”

A swell bloomed in his heart to listen to the way Cas’ voice carried that undertone of eagerness.

“And just a few days ago you were shuttin’ me down. Look at this turn of events, huh? Maybe I should say no.”

Cas took a deep breath and gave him a look that made his muscles flinch. “Dean,” chastised Cas, in the tired way of his. So familiar. His deep voice both hard and smooth. Basically, Dean thought, the sound of sex if it were made human.

“Alright, alright. I give in. What do you want to do? Can’t be too long, I have to work early tomorrow.”

Answering as if the reply was already on the tip of his tongue, Cas suggested, “Go for a drive?”

“You’ll have to do the driving obviously. Where do you want to go?”

“Nowhere in particular.”

Dean leaned towards him, eating up the space between them. He crowded in until he could feel the heat of another body through his t-shirt. He held Cas’ eyes with his.

“You takin’ me to a make out spot or something?” teased Dean, poised close enough to jump the gun on the whole making out implication.

Cas blushed. And wow, that was cute as shit. “Um, I don’t know any. But no, that’s not… I just, um, thought it would be nice to drive and talk. Get to know each other better.”

Searching Cas’ depthless eyes, he asked, “What do you want to know?”

Silence dominated the cramped kitchen for a long few minutes. The majority of the short interlude Dean used as freedom to let his focus roam. He watched the way Cas searched for the question in the back of his mind, and he watched the way each breath expanded his chest.

Something about watching Cas breathe felt odd to Dean. Like it didn’t—

“Are you happy?” Cas suddenly asked. Everything about his current expression screamed of baited expectation. Worry lingered there too.

Dean smiled. “At this very moment,” he said, shifting closer. “Yes.”

A sigh of relief passed between Cas’ lips and Dean was jealous of it. That’s what it had come down to. He was jealous of moist oxygen. Oh how the mighty have fallen. Well, not mighty exactly. Modestly average underachiever.

“Good.” Cas nodded.

The guy finally seemed to clue in to the way Dean was nearly prowling his way into Cas’ personal bubble. Truth was, Dean couldn’t stop himself. The pull was so strong that he pondered the dynamics of actual magnetization for a moment.

Whoever Cas was, whoever he might become to Dean, there was one solid truth of it all.

Dean wanted him. _Bad._

“So it’s a date, then,” he said, his voice rough and low.

Chewing his lower lip, Cas nodded. “Yes. A second date…”

And then, similar to the way the sun shines suddenly past a drifting cloud, Cas’ whole expression suddenly beamed. From the crinkles beside his eyes, to the full bright smile that dominated his face.

If Dean were a reckless romantic, he might’ve let himself believe that he’d been waiting a very long time for that exact smile. But that seemed far too intense of a thought after only one date.

As hard as it was, he pushed aside the heavier feelings he had and tried to be cautious.

However this adventure might unfold, no matter the way they looked at each other, Dean sensed the possibility for calamity in the midst. A man had to have his walls, dammit. There was no sense in laying out your assets on the front lawn of the castle for tragedy to come and tromp all over things.

“I should put more clothes on,” he said. Though, in all honesty, he was tempted to look at Cas, point at the shirt, and then point down the hall towards his bedroom. All implications loaded and ready to fire!

It startled him when Cas coughed his way through a laugh. “Pants are also recommended.”

Dean looked down.

Fuck.

How had he not noticed the fact that he was rocking some serious wood? “Um, that’s awkward,” Dean spat out. “I’ll be right back.”

Even in the solace of his room, his cheeks were burning. Did he honestly have so little control around this man?

In a semi-flustered burst of energy, he rushed around his room, picking up shirts and pants from the floor and giving them cursory sniffs.

He wound up throwing on what he classified as “fancy” jogging pants, or the cheaper knock off of dude’s yoga pants from Costco. They were gonna be in Cas’ minivan so he didn’t exactly feel the urgent need to scour his room for a pair of jeans that didn’t have grease stains. Add a Henley and a zip-up and he was golden.

And really, the Costco pants made his ass look awesome. So there was that.

As he walked down the hall, Cas was waiting behind the couch and gave him a very obvious once-over. “You look very comfortable.”

“Does that mean I look like a bum, or does that mean you have a sudden urge to cuddle me?”

Cas laughed and rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “Something along the lines of _cuddling_ , but perhaps with less of the comfortable clothing. Or is that too bold to say just yet?”

Very few thoughts pinged around his skull just then, but Dean was positive he almost broke the silence with a demand that Cas marry him.

Instead, he bit his lip and tried not to torpedo himself the short four feet between them. Stiffly, and using all remaining faculties to avoid thinking about he and Cas in a lack of clothes situation, Dean moved into the kitchen, put away his leftovers and grabbed his keys.

It was only when they were moving through the sparse cheap lobby that he felt like he should’ve put real clothes on. Cas had on nice jeans and a soft grey sweater. Cozy still, but a little more publicly acceptable than Dean’s homage to the long-bobbed yoga-mom persona.

Whatever. This shit was comfortable as fuck.

Besides, they were quickly in the minivan and moving out of the parking lot and under the sporadic overhead streetlights, leading their way to the outskirts of town.

Dean lounged back against the old cloth seat and closed his eyes. Sometimes being the passenger wasn’t so bad. There was some movement beside him and the sound system came on. Opening his eyes out of curiosity, he realized there was a CD playing. He didn’t recognize the song at all. But, it sounded like what’s-her-face. Not Rihanna. Carley-something? No.

_Adele_!

“Would not have taken you for an Adele fan. But, actually…” Dean took in the fuzzy grey sweater, the guy’s wild messy brown hair. “Yeah, I see it now.”

“It’s an unreleased album,” Cas said. “My cousin, um, he secured it for me. Actually, he forced me to listen to it and maintained it should be the soundtrack to my life.”

Dean burst out laughing and then just had to listen to every lyric that he managed to make out. By the time the first song was over, Dean secretly admitted he enjoyed it, and wondered whether Cas had some long lost lover somewhere. It pissed him off just slightly.

_Slightly_.

“What part of your life is this song supposed to represent?” And perhaps his voice was a tad hard around the edges from jealousy.

Dean’s neighbor didn’t quite dodge the question, but he huffed a laugh and took a right onto the next road without saying a word. Dean waited.

“Unfortunately that falls under the topic of things I can’t speak to you honestly about.”

As much flexibility as Dean was willing to give on this whole thing, Cas could legitimately be a psycho. “I really hope the whole ‘Secret Backstory’ thing is only because you barely know me. It’d be massively awkward if we’re like sixty and married and people are all, ‘Oh, what did your husband do before you met?’ and I’m just standing there like some idiot going ‘He won’t tell me, ma’am, but I’m sure he’s not an ax-murderer. Please stay for dinner’.”

There was a very weird pause that followed and he wanted to shoot himself in the face for talking about being married on the second date.

And then Cas broke the silence with: “What if I was an ax-murderer?” Uttered using the most serious, dour voice imaginable. Good Lord… who said shit like that?

Dean began to wonder if he was about to wind up on the six o’clock news. The guy was elusive, and he’d shown up with, like, three boxes and no furniture. Slowly, Dean felt the blood drain from his face and noticed the lack of city surrounding them. “Um, you’re not taking me out to the middle of nowhere to gank me are you?”

Cas’ stunned laughter broke the grim atmosphere. “Are you serious?” he asked Dean, and laughed some more. “I’m quite positive my entire being would self-terminate before that would ever happen. Of course, unless I was—“ Cas abruptly cut himself off and started over. “To be very clear, I am not planning to ‘ _gank’_ you. I only asked because I was on the line of thinking that, if you knew bad things I’ve done in the past, you might regret dating me.”

They were back on this now. “Ugh. Fine… Have you ax-murdered people, Cas?”

Cas squinted at the road as if he were actually thinking about that. Dude, thought Dean, learn some people skills.

“None of the good ones,” said Cas with peculiar smile. Man, this guy sucked hard at being funny.

“Meh.” Dean shrugged. “I can live with that.”

It should be worrisome that he was all about giving this mysterious guy a green light. But, Cas was also the first man to ever make his heart go ape-shit behind his ribcage. Apparently heart trumps brain. Go figure. What was that saying about listening to one’s heart and making stupid decisions? Was that even a saying?

Maybe it should be, he considered.

Either way, Dean decided to ignore the red flags because every intuition screamed at him that Cas was something special. Not that Dean was ready to call him ‘ _The One’_ or anything, but heck, if the sexy shoe fits, ya know?

Getting comfier by the second, despite the brief moment where he thought he might be hacked up and stored in Tupperware, he toed off his shoes and crossed his feet up on the dash of the Aerostar.

The next Adele song switched on and even though he imagined it robbed him of some masculinity points, he was thoroughly enjoying it. But, then again, it was about sex. And notably, sex with the lights on. Definitely Dean’s kind of thing.

Hmm. Dean angled his head and eyed Cas as he drove. As if sensing Dean’s gaze on him, Cas looked over and sent him one of those soft, sincere smiles that got his muscles all tight and twitchy.

 

It was later than he would’ve preferred by the time they got back but he didn’t regret a single moment of the aimless drive in the country. Not the brief terror of impending murder, not the awkward conversation about Dean’s past lovers, and not even the fifteen-minute nap.

Kind of odd to say that on their second date, he was asleep for fifteen minutes of it. But Cas didn’t seem to mind. It was nice. The atmosphere between them seemed to volley between tense and vibrating with sexual desire and a strange sort of peace that he didn’t understand. There were worse ways to be around someone.

Standing between their doors, Cas gave him one of those sweet hugs again. But this time, Dean grabbed his chin and held it firm, making sure Cas didn’t just brush his jaw with a kiss.

A second date could justify some lip-on-lip action.

And so what if his heart exploded and annihilated everyone in the building. Collateral damage was expected when it came to the whole maybe love crap, right?

Cas gripped Dean’s shirt at the sides and pressed against him, their lips greeting in the beginnings of a soft kiss that deviated off course almost instantly.

Which of them moaned and gasped for breath first was anyone’s guess. But somehow, they were slamming into Cas’ door and Dean was nipping at Cas’ lower lip and tasting the seam in a non-verbal demand for more.

Hands had shifted and one of his was cupped under Cas’ jaw, his fingers digging in behind his ear. The other was secured to Cas’ hip, his thumb rubbing at the bone through his jeans. Christ, Cas had sexy hips.

And, evidently, his zip-up had been unzipped because Cas’ arms were inside his sweater and circled around him. Palms flattened out and rubbing his back. God it was nice.

It took him a few nuzzles and pecks to realize Cas wasn’t planning to fully kiss him back. “You’re holding back on me,” he accused, pathetically out of breath.

Cas hugged him tight and met Dean’s heated stare. “My cousin told me I should leave you wanting more. I think it’s an effective tactic.”

Dean growled. “Your cousin’s a deadman.”

Either way, it was clear the impromptu date was over. Besides, Dean needed to get in bed or he was gonna drop something heavy on his foot tomorrow.

“Goodnight Dean.” Cas kissed him chastely and smiled.

“Night Cas.”


	8. Chapter 8

On Friday, Dean worked himself to the bone. He was at work for seven am, and there till nearly eight. All his regular paying jobs were done by four, but he needed to start work on the Impala if he was ever gonna ride her again.

Panels had to be removed, any cracked parts in the engine had to be carefully taken out. Dean had a slip of paper on the bench behind him where he was keeping a tally of everything he needed to order. That is, if he’d even be able to find everything. It wasn’t always easy.

As the bus lurched to his stop, Dean thumped down the steps heavily and walked to the front door of the apartment building.

He wanted to go on another date with Cas, but tonight wasn’t the night for it. He stank of kerosene and sweat. No doubt he looked dog-tired and likely had grease smeared somewhere on his face.

At least tomorrow he wasn’t needed at the shop. There was a shift at the bar for him if he wanted it, he had a tenuous employment to say the least. Considering he only had to show up at ten, he didn’t think it would be too infringing upon his life. Sure, he would need to stick around until they closed at two, but a little extra cash for the parts to fix his car was sorely needed.

As much as he wanted to pop in and say hi to Cas before he went into his own apartment, he knew his body was frankly too damn tired to withstand sexual tension.

Unlocking his door and shoving it inward with his elbow, he almost stepped on the note just inside.

_Dean: I’m working tonight but I’d like to see you tomorrow. Also, I’m leaving you my cell number in case you need me. –Cas_

Placing the note on the counter with his keys and his own phone, Dean headed down the hall and into the bathroom. He stripped quickly, hung his necklaces on the back of the door, giving the glass vial a graze with his fingers.

When he shifted towards the shower controls, he caught sight of himself in the mirror over the sink.

“Oh jesus,” he groaned. There was grease smeared all on his forehead, his nose, his neck. There were bags under his eyes. Talk about needing some serious beauty rest.

Hopefully his date with Cas would be a dinner thing because he planned to sleep and be lazy all day and had already fired off a text that he would take the bar shift available.

Cranking the shower to a blistering, sweltering heat, he climbed in under the spray and groaned. “Fuck yeah.”

By the time he decided to get out of the shower, he’d probably already been in there a half hour. The bathroom was damp from floor to ceiling with a thick fog of steam. He brushed his teeth and dried himself off.

Stumbling naked towards the kitchen, he planned to chug back some water, grab his phone and go text Cas naked in bed. Best idea ever.

Under the covers, he got as comfy as he could with his arms outside of the duvet and his back resting on the pillow propped against the headboard.

“ _Anyone win the lottery yet?”_ he asked.

Cas texted back a minute later. “ _Yes, actually. A lovely young lady scored ten dollars from a Cash for Life.”_

_“She might as well quit her job.”_ Dean waited and typed out another message. _“Wanna know something awesome?”_

Cas replied with three dots and a question mark. Dean smiled and wrote, “ _I’m naked and squeaky clean.”_

Some blushing emoticons were sent back and he laughed. Naturally, Cas would be a fan of emoticons the friggin’ Aerostar driving dork. A message came right after, “ _Inappropriate, Dean. I’m working.”_

What a perfect invitation to be devious, he thought. Spending a couple minutes thinking up some choice sexting possibilities, he settled with a tame beginning, “ _I wish your hands were on me right now.”_

The selected emoticon for that one was apparently the angry red dude. “ _My hands have been handling money, they’re disgusting.”_

_“Maybe your tongue instead then.”_

Dean watched the three dots that indicated Cas was typing with anticipation. “ _I will regret asking but… where would you like my tongue?”_

He snorted and sat up a bit more. “ _Hmmm.”_ Dean fired that one off and started another, “ _My neck. Just below my ear.”_

_“May I use teeth?”_

_“YES!”_

_“Interesting. Where else would you like to be licked? Or bit?”_

As tired as he’d been, Dean was pretty damn awake now. He squirmed on the bed, reached down to give his full hard-on a welcome stroke and went back to his phone. “ _My mouth, shoulder, chest, hips, legs… anywhere.”_

_“Kissing you right now would be the highlight of my day.”_

Dean smiled at his phone and wrote back, “ _XXXXXX_ ” And then, “ _How was that tongue action?”_

_“Very… electronic.”_

He cracked a laugh and debated the idea of rushing down the street to the convenience store to give Cas what he wanted. Why couldn’t he?

“ _If you were in my room right now, what would you want to do to me?”_ Dean asked. He counted on that one taking Cas a while to respond to and would give him time to throw some clothes on.

As he was slipping his feet into boots (which looked spectacular with his jogging pants and red Stanford hoodie) his phone pinged from his pocket.

Dean was already heading out the door when he read it: _“This is of course presuming that we are ignoring the status quo of taking things slow… I would get undressed, pull the blankets off of you and kiss every inch of you, using my teeth and my tongue because my lips wouldn’t be enough. I’d want to—“_

He had to stop reading because the message was long and if he didn’t look where he was going, he was gonna trip and fall down the stairs. And that would be a stupid way to die.

Once he was out the front door, he had to think for a moment before he remembered which end of the block the store was on; he rarely ever went. But he started jogging. And Dean was _not_ a jogger. Not even a little. But walking would’ve taken way too long.

His speed slowed when he reached the parking lot, and he progressed to the glass door and yanked it open. Bright lights and a cool interior greeted him. Cas was hunched by the cash staring at his phone and didn’t notice him enter.

Sensing an opportunity, he moved around some merchandise stands and snuck up behind Cas. It meant going behind the counter, but he thought he’d get a free pass.

Dean leaned in as close as he dared and said, “Mmm-hmmm, sexting with someone while you’re working, Cas.”

The man’s whole body jolted and his back snapped straight as he spun around and stared at Dean with wide eyes. “What are you doing here!? You’re supposed to be at home… in bed and naked I believe.”

He grinned and closed the gap between them to give Cas a kiss on the mouth. “Had to do that in person.”

“If you get me fired, I’ll stop dating you.”

“No you won’t,” he argued.

“No, I won’t.” Cas admitted.

There were no customers, but they both scanned the area to make sure, and confirming the coast was clear, Dean pushed Cas’ knees apart and moved in between them.

Throwing his arm around Cas’ neck, Dean drew him in for a kiss. He refrained from using tongue, because the tease of it was such a high. When Cas pulled back, it wasn’t to stop, but to nibble his way across Dean’s jaw and towards his neck. Dean shivered when Cas tugged at his earlobe and downright groaned when the man opened his mouth and sealed it on Dean’s neck and sucked like he was striving to give the worst hickey on the face of the planet.

Dean squirmed as he let Cas assault his neck, and felt the tingle of the bruise forming. So much for not involving tongue in this.

“Better?” whispered Cas breathlessly against his skin.

Clutching at Cas’ thighs, Dean moaned and decided that was a suitable answer. After some lingering nuzzles, he pushed himself back and met Cas’ heated stare.

“You’re a bad employee,” he said.

Before Cas responded, his eyes flickered down to the spot on Dean’s neck that tingled. “Yes, well, you’re a bad influence.”

There was no denying that. Dean had always been the type of guy to lure people into doing some questionable things. Sexting while working was pretty tame in comparison. “You’re easily influenced,” he shot back.

“Perhaps. How was your day?”

Something light rose inside him. No one ever asked how his day was. It was freaking nice. “Tiring, in a word. I’ve started doing double-duty at the shop; paying customers by day, fixing up the Impala after hours. You’re lucky you didn’t see me a couple hours ago.”

“Why’s that?”

Dean leaned back on the counter. “Because I smelled like ass and looked worse.”

Scanning Dean’s frame, Cas seemed to be searching for any possibility that Dean still looked worse for wear. “Hard to imagine.”

“No man looks good after twelve hours of hard labour, trust me. And what about you? How was your day?”

“Uneventful. Which, in comparison to past segments of my life, is a blessing.”

Look at that, a small clue of Cas’ former existence. Time to pry! “Uh-huh. So your previous life before you came here was chaotic then?”

Sensing the direction of this conversation, Cas stiffened and avoided his gaze. “Mostly, yes. But I’d rather not talk about it. I was quite enjoying the discussion about what I would do to you if we were both naked and in your room.”

It occurred to Dean that he never read the rest of Cas’ text. Now he was curious. “I actually missed what you wrote so I wouldn’t fall down the stairs.” He started to go for his phone in his jogging pants’ pocket.

Cas jumped towards him. “No, wait! Don’t read it in front of me.”

A short laugh barked out of Dean and he twisted away, feeling Cas’ hands grab for him uselessly. “Oh, someone’s nervous! Now I _gotta_ read it!”

Trying to clamber away from Cas, he dodged out from behind the counter, only to find Cas was trailing him—not to be easily brushed off.

Laughing and growing out of breath, Dean pulled his phone up to his face, dodging Cas at every turn; the two of them scrambling through the store like kids.

Dean read loud: “‘ _I would get undressed, pull the blankets off of you and kiss every inch of you, using my teeth and my tongue because my lips wouldn’t be enough.’_ Scandalous, Cas! _‘I’d want to lay you out’_ Ooooh... _‘and run my hands all over you, suck your cock’—_ Cas! Whoa.” Taking a minute to laugh, he wedged himself in the corner of the store between two shelves, his leg extended to block Cas from getting to him. Engrossed with the naughty take of this text, he kept reading out loud. “‘ _Suck your cock into my mouth, hold you down…’_ Hmmm... _‘Hold you down until you can’t stand the pleasure of it. And when we’re both helpless and desperate, I’d push your knees apart…”_ Dean paused to suck back oxygen. _“...and use my fingers… and... tongue to ready you for a night you would never forget ... … I would make certain of it.’”_

Dean swallowed. Every ounce of playful banter withered as he spoke, potent arousal moving in to take its place. Cas stared at him with a depthless longing that shocked Dean to his core.

Fuckin’ hell. Words had never made him so goddamn horny before.

“I think it’s fair to say I want you,” said Cas, who then threw Dean’s leg to the ground and closed the space between them.

Dean let him. Let him get as far as having his hands on Dean’s jogging pants, ready to yank them down it seemed. There was no willpower left for him to protest. In that distracted moment, he would’ve let Cas do anything.

“But the question is Dean,” Cas locked eyes with him. “Do you want me?” Giving an indicative tug on Dean’s waistband, Cas goaded an answer from him.

The words that left his mouth were foreign, as if they might not’ve been his to begin with. “I’ve always wanted you.”

Something about how or what he said broke the trance of the moment. Cas stepped back, his expression unreadable. It was then that a chime from the front of the store alerted them to a new comer.

Cursing, Dean’s neighbor spared one more look at him and then turned and rushed back to the front of the store.

Why was every encounter with this guy so fucking bizarre? All it amounted to was leaving him horny, confused, and frazzled. Shit was intense.

Pocketing his phone, but thinking he’d like to read that one text over and over until his eyes hurt, he slowly made his way to the front of the store. Despite the strangeness that lingered from what happened, he’d be damned if he was leaving this store without making sure Cas was back to sporting that heated black stare.

If the build-up of this weirdo relationship was gonna be wrought with tension, it was sure as hell gonna be fair on both sides. Perusing the shelves, Dean realized what he planned to buy would be at the front.

The woman who’d come in was grabbing a coffee from the machines on the far right and Cas was staring down at the floor, perplexed. Something was troubling him. And sure, Dean could’ve been considerate and asked, but he opted to lighten Cas up another route.

“I’d like to buy some condoms,” he announced. Sure enough the woman donned in scrubs fueling for a shift could hear him.

Cas’ gaze snapped back up to his. “Condoms?”

“Magnum, actually.”

Moving in sharp, odd shifts, Cas turned and reached up behind the cash to grab the black and gold box. He placed it on the counter and looked redder than Dean had ever seen.

Patting his clothes, pockets to be precise, Dean realized he didn’t have his wallet. Shit.

Way to be sly, dude. Leaning forward over the counter, he said, “Um, this totally kills my little tease here, but I forgot my wallet, and seeing as these will eventually be for you, do you mind buying them?”

Cas broke out into quiet laughter. He scanned the box quickly, pulled a twenty from his pocket to pay for it, and passed Dean the box after the transaction was complete. “You have no idea how odd this is for me.”

What a strange thing to say. “Why’s that?”

“Never mind, Dean. Take the condoms, go home, and go to bed. Tomorrow, I’d like to have dinner with you.”

Even as the exhaustion started to hit him again, Dean smiled. “It’s a date.”

…

After he’d gotten home the night before, he’d crawled into bed and read the text over and over until he fell asleep.

Therefore, it wasn't really a surprise that he woke up only to realize his cheek was plastered to the screen of his phone, and his right hand was trapped under both without a whole lot of feeling. Dragging his hand out, it flooded with pins and needles.

“Ah, fuck.” He shook it to try and get some proper feeling back.

Gradually crawling out of bed, Dean checked himself over. Sporadic lines dented his skin all over and glancing back at the crumpled messy sheets he realized why. His skin felt tacky and he’d bet that is was close to noon already.

It had been one of the best sleeps he’d had in awhile.

Bumbling groggily through the apartment, the sharp sunlight from the living room increased more as he made his way down the hall. Scrunching his eyes, he scanned the room and then back down the hall. Having no clear direction in his mind of what he planned to do, he snagged the blanket from the back of the couch, wrapped it around himself and crawled onto the couch.

He held his phone to his chest—

Dean panicked for a sharp second. His chest felt bare, necklaces … Oh, thank god. The cords were both twisted around his neck, the charms dangling behind him, everything scrambled from his long hard sleep. Tugging them around, he laid them out over his naked skin and gave them a brief pat, satisfied they weren’t missing.

His hand shot out to the coffee table for the remote and he pulled it into his cocoon. Stabbing the green button with his index, he turned his eyes to the TV—already set to SportsCentre.

Dean zoned in and out for a while, comfy on the couch with his eyes glued to the television in a pleasant daze. It was nice to know he and Cas had a date scheduled for later.

Where would Cas take him for dinner? Mm, maybe there’d be bread? Warm toasty bread with butter. Yum.

On cue, his stomach grumbled and he realized he hadn’t eaten since… yesterday at two? Jesus fuck, no wonder he was starving.

Hauling his ass off the couch, he clutched the blanket around his shoulders and stumbled towards the kitchen. Today was going to be one of those days, he decided.

No clothes, no real-people responsibilities. Dean was setting himself up for a nice pattern of not moving. It would be fucking glorious. And then he’d have dinner with a good looking man.

Perfect.

It was tricky to keep a blanket wrapped around oneself _and_ open the fridge without catching a draft—but he managed.

Dean scanned the shelves and scrunched his nose. “What to eat… what to eat…”

Making a decision, he pulled out the carton of eggs, bacon from the drawer, balanced the jar of milk on the carton of eggs and carted the load around and back over to the far section of counter beside the stove.

Some clanging and additional searching for utensils later and he was melting up some butter in no time, bacon beginning to sizzle on the back burner.

When the bacon was half done, he put down two pieces of bread in the toaster and got a plate out. By this point, he’d needed some extra hands so instead of moving around with the blanket half trapping him, he’d wrapped it around his chest and tucked it tight so it wouldn’t move.

So he looked like a half-wit or a crazy cat lady but there were no gawkers to witness his super Saturday sexiness.

It was fifteen minutes later, when he was back on the couch dipping his toast into egg yolk that he realized he’d been forgetting something lately. Shifting his head on his shoulders, he looked back at the counter and saw the two bottles he hadn’t touched since… Sam had been over.

He’d lasted all of two days taking his scripts.

Huh. And no seizures now that he thought of it. Not really any headaches. There’d been a few times this week he’d felt on the verge of some sort of attack. The most memorable being when he and Cas had been chowing down nachos. But Cas had fixed him.

Yeah, that made about as much sense as pants on a goat.

Unless Cas was magical. Dean laughed and shoved a strip of bacon between his lips and bit into the crunchy explosion of greasy deliciousness. Goddamn, food was good. He’d gone way too long without eating.

Ignoring the worry about another seizure, he forgot about the pills and finished cleaning off his plate, eager to return to being lazy.

…

A ping from his phone jolted him awake late into the afternoon. Everything was fuzzy and way darker than it’d been earlier. The bright sun from the morning was gone behind clouds that promised rain.

Grumbling nonsensical complaints at having to move, he dug through the blanket in search of where the sound had come from.

With one eye shut, he peeked at the screen.

Mother of hell!

It was almost five o’clock. And the message on his phone was from Cas. All it said was, “Dinner in thirty?”

Shit, shit, shit!

And on that note, he also needed to take a shit. And then shower, and brush his teeth. And find clothes! Gah!

Scrambling out of the blanket, still naked, Dean picked up his phone hastily typed out, “ _Give me an hour, please_ ,” and rushed down the hall to the bathroom.

He was under the showerhead in fifteen minutes scrubbing soap into his hair and trying to wash his body at the same time. God, he was such a goddamn bum. Lazin’ around all day, doing fuck all. Still gonna wind up late for a date with the most gorgeous man he’d ever laid his eyes on.

What the hell was wrong with him?!

Towelling off was haphazard at best, and when he plugged his feet into the leg holes of his boxers, he noticed the drops of water from his skin getting absorbed into the fabric.

“Ugh, fuuuck!”

Whatever. He yanked them on, and moved to his closet. Shoving aside hanger after hanger, he scanned his possessions for something that would make him look awesome.

Everything screamed: Poor Simpleton.

Screw it. Dean pulled a dark green button up from the middle of the row, snatched a relatively clean pair of jeans from the floor and started to get dressed.

He was walking down the hall when he realized he’d forgotten socks. Back he went.

By the time he got to the door, Cas was knocking on it. Dean’s hair was still wet and had not been styled whatsoever. This date was going to be awful.

Dean opened the door and swore abruptly. Cas looked fucking hot as hell.

“I need to brush my teeth,” he said in a short voice. For whatever reason, being rushed made him agitated and annoyed.

Cas noticed. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he called from the hall. “I was a lazy dumbass all day and fell asleep and now I’m rushed and making us late and—fuck, sorry if you’d made reservations, I hope I didn’t—”

Cas appeared in the doorway as Dean was squirting minty toothpaste onto his toothbrush.

“No reservations needed. We’re only going across the hall.”

_Oh_. Talking through the impediment of the toothbrush, he said, “You made me dinner?”

Nodding, Cas smiled at him through the mirror. “I’m not sure how good of a cook I am though, no need to rush.”

All of Dean relaxed. It was such a relief to know that the anticipated date would be only the two of them, sharing a quiet evening in Cas’ apartment. Dean could care less what Cas had made, he was just happy that on some universal level, Cas had managed to give him exactly what he’d needed.

Done brushing his teeth, he was turning on his heel to follow Cas out the door when he noticed that something about the picture of himself was off. It wasn’t the disheveled hair, though that wasn’t good at all.

Standing behind him, Cas looked down in the reflection. “You’re not wearing the necklaces.”

Raising a hand to his chest, Dean felt the softness of the shirt. It was true. There was nothing below the button-up, or the white henley he had on underneath. It was not a comfortable sensation, but with Cas hovering at his back, he didn’t feel as lost as he had for the split second earlier that day when he’d thought he’d lost them.

Pushing the door closed some, he lifted the two leather cords off their hook and settled them in their rightful place.

“Ready now?”

Dean smiled. “Yes. Lead the way.”


	9. Chapter 9

In socked feet and comfy clothes, Dean followed Cas out of the apartment and across the hall. They stepped into Cas’ front hallway and the aroma all but smacked him in the face.

Holy meatballs!

The entire place carried the rich, spicy scent of Italian food. His mouth literally flooded with saliva and if he wasn’t careful, he’d be drooling on the floor pretty soon.

“Oh my god, you made this,” he stammered, barging his way into the apartment and walking right into the kitchen. There was a big pot of spaghetti sauce simmering away. He hovered over it, gave it a stir and inhaled like the smell alone could save his life. “Fuck!” Dean exclaimed, rounding to find Cas smiling softly at him. “Let’s just cut to the chase. Marry me fucking now.”

As a beaming smile broke across Cas’ face, eyes and nose crinkling in the most adorable way, Dean realized part of him wasn’t kidding.

Again, that was crazy man talk, so he shrugged. “But I mean, only if you’re willing to cook for me forever.”

“And you’d eat anything I made?” asked Cas, eyebrows up high. Dean was being tested.

“As long as you don’t feed me rabbit food.”

“I would never.”

Laughing a little nervously, Dean hopped up onto the counter. “So. Dinner?”

“Right.” Cas stepped into the small kitchen and started organizing the various parts of the meal.

Finally, they were sitting at the small kitchen table just beyond the kitchen, about where Dean had his couch. Cas had more efficiently set up his space—though it was obvious every piece of furniture was a curb reject. Not that Dean cared. It was homey. And better than if he’d come over and the place had still been empty.

The plate in front of him was piled high with noodles and a heaping amount of meaty spaghetti sauce. In the middle of the oak table were stacks of garlic bread from the oven.

“Man you read my mind,” Dean muttered as he snatched one of the slices from the top and took a ginormous bite. Garlic and butter flooded his mouth and he moaned.

Across the table, Cas stared blatantly, a notable blush colouring his cheeks. “I forgot.”

“Forgot what?” he said once he’d swallowed.

Drawn out of a trance, Cas shook his head. “Never mind. Um, but I did forget something. Wine—there should be wine, right?”

You’d think Cas had taken notes on cooking dinner for someone. For all Dean knew, maybe he had. “It’s not necessary,” he assured the guy. “No worries at all . This is honestly amazing. Exactly what I needed tonight.”

Relieved, Cas grinned and dug into his own plate.

The meal passed in mostly silence. And mostly because Dean was too busy scarfing the load on his plate. But he did notice the way Cas watched him throughout. Watched him with a peculiar fascination. It didn’t make Dean uneasy though. If anything, it made his skin feel hot.

Of course, part of that reaction could’ve been the warm food filling his belly.

Towards the end of dinner, a timer went off behind them. Cas shot up from his chair and raced into the kitchen.

Dean heard the oven door creak open. A minute later the scent of hot apples and cinnamon wafted around him. “Dude, seriously!?” Dean nearly shouted. “You made _PIE_! I’m not kidding now, marry me. Like for real, we’re driving to Vegas immediately after I shovel my face with pie. Does that work for you?”

Laughter rose from the kitchen. “I’m worried that you’re no longer joking,” said Cas. It was obvious he was loving it.

Dean wasn’t joking actually. But for the third date, he forced it into one. “Of course I am. I’m still not sure you’re not an ax-murderer. I’m definitely not marrying an ax-murderer. Even if it would make for half-decent comedy.”

“Okay,” Cas began as he walked from the kitchen to the table. “I didn’t actually _make_ the pie; that seemed beyond my skills. But I asked a few people where to find the best apple pie and so I ended up getting this one at the grocery store. A ridiculously expensive grocery store, so I sincerely hope it’s good or they’ll be hearing from me,” Cas noted sternly. “Anyway, here…” Cas held out the round tray, the steaming goodness drawing Dean close. “I hope you like it.”

It was cute how Cas waited for him to take the first bite—nearly sitting on the edge of his chair. Dean heaved up a forkful, and ignoring the fact that the desert was piping hot, he shoveled it into his mouth.

“Mm… _hot, hot!”_ But he ate, and blew out the excess hot air, trying not to spew crumbs in the process. Oh man, but the heat settled and the flavour melted over his tongue. Dean moaned and threw his head back, shaking his fork like some kind of bizarre applause. “You chose damn good, Cas,” Dean praised, swallowing the moist sugary deliciousness and going back for more.

After he ate three pieces without pause. right out of the dish, Dean finally placed his fork on the table, indicating clearly that his affair with the pie was over. He wiped his mouth free of crumbs and settled back against the chair, his lazy stare moving across the table to find Cas smirking at him. A barely there smirk, as if Cas were doing his best to hide it.

“Should I have restrained myself?” asked Dean, an eyebrow arched.

Cas licked his lips, “I’m pleased you didn’t… watching you eat is quite something.”

“In a bad way or a good way?”

Even before Cas said the words, Dean caught the tempestuous spark in the man’s blue eyes. “A good way. Most certainly a good way.”

Arousal stirred in him, low and warm, and Dean couldn’t hold back the sudden onslaught of images clogging up his conscious mind.

“You, uh, want watch a movie or something?” he asked, holding Cas’ stare.

“Do you mean at the theatre? Because I, um, I don’t have any movies here... unfortunately.”

Thinking it over quick, Dean knew the timing wouldn’t work out if he had any chance of not being late for work. “Yeah, sorry Cas, can’t do the theatre ‘cause I have to work later but I’ve got tons of movies … if that’s cool with you?”

“Work? Where?”

Dean stood from the table and started to clear things off. “The bar, a few blocks over—that dirty hole in the wall called Steel Rose?”

“Oh, yes, I remember you telling me about, um, beer-swilling I believe was the term you used.”

Dean smiled on his way to the kitchen. “Yeah, it’s all very high class,” he joked, picturing the regulars that lined up along the bar every night. “But it pads the bank account, so why not.”

Standing at the sink and using the available brush to clean his plate, Dean was hyper aware of Cas standing a foot behind him, waiting to use the sink. The space between them charged up, ensuring that whatever movie they watched would play across the screen and they’d both forget about it the second the credits rolled.

It was quiet as they finished up in the kitchen, and quieter yet as they moved across the hall and Dean randomly snatched a DVD off the shelf below the TV. Flipping the plastic case in his hand, he took a gander at the cover to make sure he wasn’t accidentally about to pop in an old porno. Or worse, the buried copy of The Notebook he had.

Not that he’d bought the damn thing. Some old fling, Jenny he was pretty sure, had left it behind and he decided not to throw it in the trash. It was a perfectly intact film. And sure, once in a while he watched it… There was nothing wrong with that. There was, however, something definitely wrong with _telling_ people you watched the Notebook. Alone. With a pint of Ben  & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey because sometimes life was kind of sucky.

Dean cleared his throat and focused on the actual DVD in his hand. _Alien Vs. Predator._ Sure.

Squatting in front of the DVD, Dean stuck the disc in and snatched the remote for the device and made his way back to the couch. On said couch was the kind of human being that made Dean stop and go, ‘ _Oh, that’s what I want. Exactly what I want.’_

“I hope you like sci-fi flicks.”

Cocking his head, Cas squinted at him. “That depends… what did you choose?”

“Awesomeness,” he cheekily replied, falling into the corner of the couch and scooping up the blanket from his earlier nap, pulling it up over himself and kicking out the extra towards Cas. “Want to, uh, get all cozy under this blanket with me?” He tried to smile confidently, but failed. An annoying blush crept up his neck and settled in his cheeks. He wondered if Cas noticed.

Dean’s neighbour moved gradually, obviously unsure how close to get. By the time Dean hit play, Cas was leaning into him, the blanket covering them both.

The very first thing he noticed was the way Cas smelled, like spaghetti sauce and parsley. And just a hint of butter. Dean was screwed. The movie started up but Dean looked down at the top of Cas’ head instead.

It was messy, but looked soft. Enticing, he’d go as far to say. The way his arm rested on the back of the couch, he could bend at the wrist and have his fingers buried in all that messy brown hair in a heartbeat.

Why couldn’t he? Was it weird they hadn’t kissed yet? How would it feel to have Cas on top of him?

Dean squeezed his eyes shut and let his hand drop, his fingers sliding effortlessly into Cas’ mess of brown hair. The man said nothing about the touch, but he worked his body in closer and laid his head back to make it easier for Dean to dish out the hair playing action.

Not even twenty minutes into the movie, Dean couldn’t stand the fact that they weren’t doing anything. Every goddamn inch of his skin wanted Cas so fucking bad it was driving him insane.

Making a gruff noise, Dean gave a sharp pull of Cas’ hair to get his attention and then placed both hands on Cas’ back to push him away from Dean’s side.

“What are you doing?” asked Cas. It was clear by his rough voice he’d been enjoying himself. Dean hoped to make it even better.

“Getting comfier. Move up for a sec.”

Cas leaned forward to give him room. Wedging his back up against the side of the couch, Dean pulled his right leg up and rested it on the back cushions. He reached out, grabbed Cas by the sides and pulled him close.

After some necessary shuffling and finding the sweet spot, they were settled with Cas all tucked in between his legs. Dean had an instant hard-on. It was pathetic but he’d gotten past worrying about his dick.

After pulling the blanket over them, Cas turned back to the TV and started to lean back. As great as it would be to have Cas’ weight on his chest, Dean raised his hands to Cas’ shoulders and squeezed.

The softest, subtlest moan came out of Cas. Dean stroked into the muscle with his thumbs and was graced with another beautiful sound. “Feel good?”

Cas hung his head and mumbled, “Uhh yes…”

“Good.” Dean smiled and continued to work at the tight muscle beneath his fingers. Man he loved the feel of Cas’ strength under him, how his body shifted and reacted to touch. There was something almost novel in the way Cas moved. Dean wondered if Cas had ever gotten a massage before.

His fingers slid up higher until they were kneading the lines of Cas’ neck, easing into his hairline. Dean memorized the feel of his skin, the warmth and give of it. It reminded him of the power in the five senses, how easily they could consume you.

The murmur of voices and leading music from the movie sounded far away, the pounding of Dean’s heart was embarrassingly loud in comparison.

Curling forward to breathe in Cas’ scent, he was abruptly pulled back to the night in the shower when he’d broken down into a heap on the floor and bawled his eyes out. Yes, he thought, under all that lingering Italian spice, he realized Cas smelled like nature and wood fires and clear air. His nose brushed against the skin and he felt Cas intake a sharp breath.

Dean’s erection throbbed and he couldn’t stop what he did next. Closing the last of the space, Dean leaned into the warmth and opened his mouth over the back of Cas’ neck, his tongue sliding over the top ridge of his spine and moaning at how he tasted.

Cas shifted back and gripped Dean’s thigh for leverage to do it again, but harder. Goddamn, Dean groaned and kissed at Cas’ neck, sucking at the skin and growing dizzy from how hard he was.

Sliding his hands up the sides of Cas’ head, Dean angled him however he wanted and let his mouth explore every sensitive inch of the man’s neck, and then up around the back of his ears.

The second he took a nibble at Cas’ earlobe, stiff fingers clawed at Dean’s jeans and Cas grinded back against him, one hand slipping down the inside of his thigh. Heat exploded across his skin and Dean knew that if Cas had been just anyone, their clothes would flying off about now. But the longer his fingers caressed Cas’ skin, the longer the smell of the man intoxicated Dean, he realized there was no way he could rush any of this.

Closing his eyes, he sucked at the fleshy part of Cas’ ear, and licked his way down, opening his mouth wide to bite at the soft angle where Cas’ neck curved out towards his shoulder. A rough groan emanated from Cas’ chest and the hand that had been inching along the inside of Dean’s thigh slipped back awkwardly.

Breathing hard through his nose, Dean curled up just as Cas’ hand pressed back into the vee of his legs. Oh god, Dean moaned and rolled his hips again, his hands sliding up into Cas’ hair and forcing every strand in a thousand different directions.

Tracing warm skin with his tongue and lips, he let the sweltering heat and disorientation carry him closer and closer to release. It would feel so good to pull Cas’ body into his arms, lock around him with his legs and shudder against him.

But coming in one’s pants wasn’t exactly a suave move.

Dean’s muscles locked up as he fought off the rising urge to come. And yet, he still pushed into Cas’ awkwardly rubbing hand, stroking Dean’s trapped erection through the thickest jeans on the planet.

Dean was starting to sweat, could feel his clothes sticking to him. Even Cas’ skin had become slicker, a bead of perspiration had started to sink from Cas’ hairline and Dean perversely wanted to lick it. Everything about this mysterious blue-eyed man threw him off the rails, shucking every code of decency he had.

He needed Cas to move off the couch or he was done for. Dean did not have the willpower to stop himself.

“Cas,” he ground out, the name breathed against the back of Cas’ neck.

“Hmm?” was all the response he got. Cas hummed again and shifted in the space between Dean’s legs, arching back and placing more pressure on Dean’s straining cock. From this angle, Dean saw his profile, the familiar mouth gently parted as Cas pulled in air, the fluttering of his eyelids.

What a fucking picture. How could he put an end to this? Why would he?

“If you don’t stop, I’m gonna finish,” he warned, deciding that he should offer an out if Cas wanted it. “Goddamnit, Cas… we haven’t even fucking made out yet.”

Shifting in repetition, grinding and pumping his hand, Cas let out a wanton sound and said, “Please come, Dean… _please…_ ”

Fuckin’ hell—not once in his life had someone begged him to finish for them. No one had ever cared or wanted his pleasure so much before. His heart clenched at the surge of emotion, and he hated how pervasive his feelings had become for this person he barely knew. It couldn’t be healthy or normal.

With his fingers brushing into Cas’ wild hair, his mouth sucking and biting at Cas’ neck, Dean braced his feet and angled his knees wider apart. He rocked against Cas’ unsteady rhythm, eyes closing in sequence with every hard drag of Cas’ palm. Faintly, Dean could feel the prod of Cas’ fingers pushing against the fabric of his jeans, trying to stroke the soft bulge of his nuts.

On a hard downstroke, with the thick scent of Cas in his nose, Dean came in shudders, spilling into his bunched boxers. Each pulse brought on a flush of heat and Dean groaned in short, gruff bursts, “ _Agh_ , _ahh_ , _ahh…_ fuck’n, uggh, so-so good…”

As the high of release dwindled, Dean grimaced as he felt come, cooling quickly, running in streaks down his thighs and between his legs. His boxers were damp and plastered to his skin in spots. Not the best after-feeling, but he locked his arms around Cas’ chest anyway and pulled him close.

Dean placed a kiss to the side of his face. “That was awesome.”

He felt it in Cas’ cheek when he smiled. “Really?”

Humming in agreement, Dean lazily kissed Cas’ face, taking steep breaths of his specific scent. Even after the clothes-on grind session, both of them damp with sweat and natural aromas heightened, Cas smelled better than anything else in existence. It made him strangely sad and happy at the same time.

“I love the way you smell,” he said offhand, skimming his nose over bared skin and kissing in aimless affections. Dean started to wonder how Cas’ tongue would taste. His mind turned over a list of details about this man that he had yet to discover. The wetness of his mouth, how hot it would be, how slick his tongue might feel.

Dean was getting hard again.

“Thank you,” Cas said politely. Something about Cas’ formal response put a smile on Dean’s face.

Man, he wished he didn’t have to work later. The movie was still playing, so they might as well finish it. But a change of pants was needed first.

“Hate to break this up but I need to change my pants.”

Cas twisted back to look at him. “Um, yes… I’d say I’m sorry… but I’m not.” His expression was lax and so at peace that Dean wondered if Cas had gotten his own release somehow, but looking between the guys legs, there was no evidence of it.

“Me neither.” Dean stretched forward to kiss him on the mouth. “Be right back.”

Cas bent forward to let Dean out, and he untangled himself from the couch and jogged down the hallway. Dean yanked his soiled pants and boxers off and grabbed a pair of jogging pants instead—just in case. He might as well wait to put jeans on later, before heading out to work. Christ, it was going to suck to leave Cas behind. Maybe he could convince him to swing by for a bit.

Jogging back to the living room, finding that walking was way too slow a form of transportation, Dean crawled back into his spot on the couch and dragged Cas back with his arms looped around Cas’ middle.

“Get back in here.”

A low laugh rose out of Cas and he looked at Dean over his shoulder. “You’re happy,” he noted. Why Cas seemed to find that surprising was a mystery to Dean, but the statement was all true.

“Heck yeah I’m happy. I just had an orgasm, Alien versus Predator is on, I have an awesome guy all up between my legs—what’s there to be bummed about?”

Cas shook his head. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

With that, the dark-haired mystery of hotness leaned back against Dean. Downright snuggled into his chest, humming in innocent pleasure as he got comfy.

“I like this kind of date,” said Dean, brushing Cas’ disheveled hair off his skin.

“Me too,” Cas agreed, crossing his arms over Dean’s.

Dean couldn’t speak for Cas, but he dozed in and out throughout the rest of the movie. When the credits finally started to run by at hyperspeed, Dean leaned down to Cas’ ear and whispered, “I have to go to work soon.”

“ _No_ ,” Cas grumpily replied.

Dean smiled. “You could come by if you want. It’s close… I’ll buy you a drink.”

“I’d like that,” Cas replied softly. Dean loved the idea that maybe Cas had fallen asleep on him. Either way, he loved how the low rumble of Cas’ voice against his chest.

“Good, it makes kicking you out a lot easier on me.” Dean tried to push at Cas’ shoulder and get them both off the couch.

“You’re kicking me out?” Turning laboriously to face Dean, Cas scrunched his face and looked wholly unpleased by this turn of events.

“Sorry, but yeah. I need to shower and I want to scrounge up a snack before I head out.” With Cas out of the way, Dean rose off the couch and felt sad to leave it. Man, getting worked over by Cas had felt fucking damn good. And to think it’d only been a hand rubbing haphazardly at his dick through his jeans. Dean was either _very_ easy, or… fucking smitten.

He’d bet the latter.

Cas reluctantly stood, taking a quick second to adjust his own situation. Imagining Cas from before, the way he’d strained against Dean, his legs moving around on the couch as he angled for greater purchase, threw a hiccup into Dean’s plan to send Cas back across the hall.

“What?” asked Cas, innocent blue eyes meeting his slightly heated stare.

“Uh, nothing.” Dean gave him a lopsided smile and walked with him to the door.

As the stood on either side of the threshold, Dean worried about how wrapped up in this guy he was getting. He could practically feel his eyes sparkling. It was ridiculous.

“I’ll see you later?” said Cas, eyebrows raised in a question.

Leaning forward, hands braced on the door jamb, Dean kissed Cas full on the mouth. He let the touch linger, building a low current between them, before he finally pulled back and grinned. “Definitely.”

Alone in the apartment, Dean motored through the actions of getting ready for his shift. He threw handfuls of party mix into his mouth at intervals. He took a quick shower and dressed fast. It was real fucking sad that he was racing to get to work for the sole reason that he would get to hang out with Cas again.

He’d seen the guy less than two hours ago. Man, there was a lot wrong with that. He should probably be worried. Or even a little concerned that he was already so invested in a relationship with this man. They’d only been on a few dates. Cas was purposely not telling him about his past. Not to mention the outright lying a time or two.

Yeah, Dean should be freaking out in a bad way, not in this stupid giddy dorkishness he had going on.

It was no surprise he was early for work. A half hour early, actually.

Bax and Marnie, the couple who owned the place—a real Biker World match made in heaven—shot him matching looks of shock as he slipped in behind the bar and snagged a Budweiser apron from beside a pitcher of lemon slices.

Dean ignored their curious gazes as he popped open the cash and counted out some change, making a note on a sheet of paper exactly what he was taking so he could separate out his tips at the end of the night.

“Yes, I’m early,” Dean finally muttered, not meeting their eyes. “Get over it.”

“Not complainin’,” Bax said, turning away with a tug at his wiry grey and black beard. His wife, on the other hand, narrowing her heavily makeuped eyes at him said, “Baby, I think our handsome elusive bartender got a little somethin-somethin.” She winked at Dean.

Shaking his head, he didn’t deny it. Hopefully Cas didn’t make anything obvious when he came in. Dean wasn’t strict about his own sextivities but he was well aware of the specific crowd this place attracted. Not exactly the type to be open-minded. Unless it was about the occasional petty theft, that was just a regular Friday night.

He fell into the routine of work easy enough. Take an order, pour a drink, get the cash. Not exactly a hard line of labour. Sure, he wasn’t always a fan of this group’s take on the world in aspects but overall he felt at home with the rough’n’tough types that came in here.

It was near midnight when Dean’s head turned to the jingle of the bell over the wood door and saw Cas striding in, looking so horribly out of place in the joint it made him laugh. Why oh why had Cas decided to show up in a blue t-shirt, an oatmeal-coloured cardigan, and dear lord… were those corduroy pants?

For a half second, Dean wondered what the fuck he saw in this guy. But then their eyes found each other, and Cas smiled. This breathtaking, wide, honest smile. Dean was nearly knocked off his feet. Yeah, he realized, that right there is why.

Taking a seat at the bar, Cas waited for Dean to go over to him. Dean finished up pouring the beer he was working on, knifed off excess foam and brought it to one of the regulars. It was hard, but the clamped down the urge to smile from ear-to-ear and leaned over the sticky bartop to take Cas’ freebie order.

“What’ll ya have?”

Cas chewed his lip before he answered. “Surprise me.”

Nodding and stepping back, Dean ran a list through his mind of potentials. He turned to the rows of bottles at the back and decided on a drink that he thought suited Cas very well. It wasn’t a quick order, and the only other times it’d been ordered was if one of their regulars was sick as a dog.

Dean returned to Cas several minutes later and placed the hot drink in front of him.

Eyeing the steaming stout glass warily, Cas arched a brow. “What is it?”

“A hot toddy. You’ll like it—trust me.”

Moving cautiously, Cas raised the drink to his lips and took a minuscule sip. His expression flipped towards shock and then impressed. “Mmm, that is good!”

Dean smiled. He may not know Cas’ past, but he knew what the man liked. “Uh, can I ask why you showed up wearing… _that.”_

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Cas wondered, his focus mostly on the drink and taking repeated sips.

“Well… don’t get me wrong, you’re...” Dean glanced around to make sure no one was in earshot, “... _hot_ , but you’re dressed like an old man on welfare.”

A frown scrunched Cas’ face and he glanced down at himself. “It was the most comfortable clothing I could find at the cheap place. You know the one that has that odd smell to it.”

Oh boy. “Yeah I know the one.” It pained Dean to think of Cas as having to scour second-hand clothing for suitable options. What the hell had happened to this guy? Where did he come from? “Look, sorry about saying that… didn’t mean to be a jerk.”

Sipping at his drink, Cas shrugged indifferently. “What you said doesn’t bother me. They’re just clothes, Dean.”

True enough. Dean straightened up from his lean on the counter and went back to helping his other customers. He couldn’t help running through every conceivable option about where this man had come from. Was he former mob? Had he been a husband to some undeserving housewife and killed her and ran off. Maybe he’d lost his job and was homeless for a while. It would explain the lack of furniture and clothes, the comment about former chaos.

None of it fit though. Whenever Dean tried to picture a different version of Cas, all he saw was darkness. Not of a sinister kind, but simply… the colour of the night. Complete with specks of white.

To everyone else, Cas probably looked like an out-of-place loser amongst a group of badass motherfuckers. But to Dean, he saw something he didn’t understand. He saw power and otherness. Part of him knew, with absolutely certainty, that if a brawl broke out, Cas would hold his own.

It was a little after one when Cas finally went home, throwing Dean a soft smile on his way out. Taking a scan of the meagre group left, Dean was sure no one had picked up on the truth about them.

Or so he thought.

“Why I find that all kinds of hot, I’ll never know,” said Marnie, coming to stand beside Dean at the bar as he counted his cash out at the end of the night. She was proudly busty and enjoyed wearing a tight set of clothes.

Dean looked around and came up short. “Find what hot?”

“You and Mr. Rogers banging like bunnies drunk on the Fourth of July.”

Stuttering, Dean stared back at Marnie, with her kinky blonde hair in an explosion around her face and her thick black eyeliner. “You think…? Me and him?” Dean thumbed towards the door.

“Honey, no one hides shit from me—and definitely not the kind of lust you were throwin’ around. Don’t worry, I won’t be tellin’ Bax none of it. Hypocrite’ll trash gays from sunup to sundown but loves it when I stick my finger in his ass, go figure, huh?” She shrugged and flicked the underside of Dean’s chin with her neon pink nails. “I’ll close up, kid. Count your tips and go get your fuck on while you’re young. God knows life is short.”

He had no plans to go and “get his fuck on,” but bowing out early from a shift wasn’t something he was gonna say no to. “Uh, thanks Marn.”

“Anytime, honey.”

As she passed by, she planted a very lipstick-heavy kiss to his cheek and sauntered off towards the kitchen. Dean tipped his head in appreciation and hastily counted out his take-away for the night.

Just shy of seventy dollars. Which for this place on a Saturday night, was par for the course.

Back at the apartment, Dean gave Cas’ plain front door a longing look and sighed. They’d hang out again soon enough. He really needed to stop worrying that Cas was gonna disappear. Unlocking the door, Dean went into his apartment and went straight to bed.

That night, he dreamt of fighting. And he loved it. Loved the way his hands curled into strong fists, how his muscles hardened, the way his heart rate skyrocketed with adrenaline.

Dean Campbell hadn’t been in a lot of fights, but in his dream the feeling was as natural as breathing.


	10. Chapter 10

“You takin off?” asked Ritchie.

Dean turned away from his bench of tools. “Yeah. There’s nothin’ more I can do on the Toyota today and the customer’s not pickin’ ‘er up till late tomorrow. My Baby”—Dean cast his eyes towards the last bay of the shop and saw the disassembled state of his beloved car—“is sadly waiting on a shipment of parts so, yeah, I’m heading out.”

Ritchie leaned over the Ford he’d been working on and looked at Dean like he had something on his mind.

“What?” asked Dean, in the middle of rubbing the corner of a rag against his palm to try and work off some of the goopy lock-tightener he’d spilled. It caught Dean’s attention more when Ritchie said nothing back. The lanky man wasn’t one for hesitation. It was only after Dean settled his attention on the guy that he spoke up.

“You still gettin’ headaches?”

Dean nodded.

“Got something that might help ya out.”

Squinting, Dean did a quick run of his stash at home. “No need, Ritch, I’ve got a dime left, easy.”

The guy stood tall and shuffled over, his steel-toed boots scraping at the concrete. “Not talking about grass. I scored a, uh, variety pack if you will from my guy. Me and Amanda tried that MDMA stuff for the first time… Shit. It’s got a nice high, little trippy but enjoyable. Not addictive if you ask me. Seems like something you’d like, Handsome-D. Thought you might wanna give’r a go.”

He grimaced at the nickname. Ritchie always had plenty. “What’s in it?”

The answer was basically a shrug and, “Didn’t ask.”

Rolling his eyes, Dean chastised his friend. “You are a terrible drug dealer.”

“Whoa whoa, I am no drug dealer. I occasionally wind up with certain substances and then share those substances with people I trust. End of story, and tell the cops no different.”

Dean laughed. “Uh-huh.”

“Interested?”

Why not. “Life’s short, right?”

“Fucking right it is, pretty boy.”

Dean finished up and slapped Ritchie’s bony back on his way out of the shop. Camden was already gone, having taken off early to appease his wife with a “fancy” dinner. Guy was grumbling and complaining all day about it. “No real men like fancy restaurants,” he’d claimed.

Not that Dean wanted to get into what made “real” men or any of that bullshit, but he kind of agreed with the guy about his hate on fancy foodie places. They were always so friggin’ stuffy and only offered about two calories worth of food and charged a month’s rent for it.

To be fair though, Dean had gone once for a date to the place downtown called Bomay, or Bomb, or something like that and yeah the food had tasted awesome, but not for the cost, and the whole idea of one itty-bitty course after another was tiresome. Dean would rather it all slapped in front of him in one shot, and let him go to town.

Truth was, while Dean could appreciate the hard-to-pronounce crap, he preferred roadside diners and shitty convenience store food. Who knew why.

When he got home all he wanted to do was strip himself down and climb into the shower and let the heat build in him for a solid half hour. After which he had iron-clad plans to get Cas over for another couch session. Maybe start up the Netflix… maybe fool around a bit. Heck, they still hadn’t kissed yet, at least not with some tongue action. He had to remedy that pretty damn quick.

Fuck yes, what a great way to spend a shitty Monday night. Cuddling, making out hopefully, streaming eight-dollars-a-month entertainment. Nothing would be better.

Tossing his clothes into his room from the hallway, Dean went into the bathroom and hung up his necklaces in their spot on the back of the door and got into the shower.

Forty minutes later, his body over-heated and steaming, Dean climbed onto the bathmat in a daze. Best. Shower. Ever.

God, he was so ready to get his cuddle-freak on.

He towel-dried his hair, put his necklaces back on and padded bare-foot and naked to his room to get dressed.

Fifteen minutes later, Dean was crossing the hallway in loose pajama pants and a Metallica t-shirt that was so old it never lost his smell no matter how good of a washing it got. He raised his hand to knock on the door but a voice that was definitely _not_ Cas’ stopped him cold. His fist hovered as he caught the accented lilt of it.

_“Ugh. What in bloody hell are you wearing?”_

“ _How did you find us?”_ he heard Cas ask, ignoring the man’s question.

“ _Oh_ , _I have my ways. But don’t worry your lovesick little heart about it, I won’t be crushing your mundane little dreams.”_

_“You didn’t answer the question...”_ Cas pointed out.

_“It’s embarrassing really. The lengths I had to go to just to hide our little visit here. Pathetic, wouldn’t you say?”_ After a short silence, the accented dude continued, “ _He and I were once close you know. Best friends, even.”_ Another pause. “ _Oh, tone the drama, Feathers. Am I not allowed to care? Am I not granted some dispensation to feel something for our brave little boys? I only want to know if they’re happy.”_

The hallway began to sway from side to side like it was suddenly a boat. Dean had a hard time breathing.

“ _You actually care...”_ questioned Cas, his tone suspicious.

“ _Yes well, we’re not all perfect, are we?”_

_“Fine. Whatever. Yes, they’re happy. Now leave and promise you won’t come back.”_

_“Cross my demonic heart.”_

Whatever it was about that voice was sending Dean reeling. It made him angry, and scared for Cas’ well-being. Before he knew what he was doing, he was barging through the door despite a fresh headache splintering through his brain.

The apartment layout was a flipped version of Dean’s, with Cas and the man with the accent standing by the edge of the kitchen. They both looked at him. Cas with surprise and worry and the other with uncertainty and an air of confusion.

“Who are you?” the British man asked, staring down his nose at Dean as if he’d been interrupted by a fly landing on his food.

Cas sprung to action, his hands grabbing the other man and shoving him down the hallway to where Dean stood.

God, his brain hurt like a motherfucker. “ _Who am I_?” Dean fired back. “Who the fuck are you?”

Surely, there was a reason for this sudden, glaring animosity but despite knowing he seemed crazy, he wanted to strangle that poncy fucktard.

Muttering as Cas pushed him past, the guy said, “Well I’ll be damned, that’s—“

Before he could finish his sentence, Cas had wrenched the door open and tossed him into the hallway. “If I see you again, I will kill you—and trust me, this time, it will stick.”

The door slammed hard and Cas wheeled back and rushed over. Good thing too, because Dean was failing fast. A thick suffocating heat radiated from his core, leaving him sweating and nauseous. The agony spiking through his skull was getting worse by the second.

Cas was moving towards him slow, taking forever, and the view faded the closer he got. Black swarmed in from the corners, white blasting at the centre in spastic successions. In a sudden rush, Dean heard himself crying out from the pain before everything went dark and he buckled to the floor.

In the blackness of the space where his brain lingered in shadows, he heard clips of conversations flow through the vast nothingness. They were not dreams, but branches from his life coming through. He knew them as memories, he knew them as moments that stuck out; some were significant, some were not. Voices and slivers of sensation rose to the surface but they didn’t stay. As each one floated through his mind, he forgot them the second they were gone. Dean bobbed his way down memory lane, reaching out to every teased clip, wishing he would remember when he woke up.

 

_“Dude, you’re not gonna poke her with a stick!”                                                               “Dean…”_

_“Family don’t end with blood, boy.”_

_“Dammit, Cas.”_

_“C’mon Sammy, it’s just a little ghost.”_

_“We can fix this!”                                                                                            “Dean.”_

_“Dean…”_

_“Do you ever think about something more?”_

 

When Dean rose out of the void, he felt the heavy warmth of a man’s hands stroking his face. And for a moment, he smelled that mountainous aroma again. _Cas_. A craving followed quickly after and when he opened his eyes, a familiar face was the first thing he saw.

It was everything he needed.

“Dean, oh thank God.” For a quick second, Cas seemed amused and shocked by his own words, and then he focused harder on Dean, his hands cradling Dean’s head. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know this would happen. I’m so sor—”

“Hey,” croaked Dean, his throat dry. “Stop apologizing. Not your fault. It just happens.”

“No, Dean. It is. Every time I try to fix something, it never works the way I hope.”

Staring up into Cas’ worried stare, feeling the incredible presence of his body heat all around, Dean wanted only thing. And it wasn’t this damn nonsense that Cas was spewing.

“Kiss me,” he demanded, staring hard at the blue eyes above him.

Enough was enough, goddammit. They’d been on lots of dates. If ‘lots’ amounted to three anyway. Or four… or whatever it was. The chemistry wasn’t just there, it was boiling the fuck over. It was insane to think it, but Cas was _his._ And Dean knew that more than he knew his own name.

The gorgeous man in question passed his thumb across Dean’s lower lip, his eyes flicking down. “I don’t deserve this. This is a fluke… a strange occurrence that never would’ve happened.”

“Stop rambling, man, just kiss me. Just fucking kiss me already… we’ve waited long enough I think. Don’t you?” Eons, it seemed, had dragged on before they made it here. Had it seriously only been a few weeks since he’d met Cas?

That wasn’t right.

Pulling him back to the moment, Cas grinned down at him. The expression soft and indulgent, as if he found Dean’s impatience endearing. Hey, whatever worked, he thought.

“Yes,” Cas huffed a laugh. “Long enough.”

Dean felt Cas’ hair tickle his forehead before he felt the brush of Cas’ lips against his. The kiss was gentle, affectionate, and it made everything, for the first time, _okay_.

Brushing Cas’ hair off his forehead, Dean parted his lips to let Cas in. There was a short second where the connection was nothing but a moist touch and hot air flowing between them. But then Cas’ tongue sank into his mouth, sinfully slow, his head angling to deepen the kiss.

It was the most erotic first kiss he’d ever experienced. So much so that his hips came up off the floor and thick moan rumbled up his throat. Dean reveled in the slick grope of Cas’ tongue, dipping in and out of him, their lips sealed together.

It was slippery with impatience and uncoordinated, but it was perfect. Dean threw his arms around Cas’ neck and tried to pull him down. Taking back a modicum of control, Dean waited for Cas to withdraw his tongue and then did his share of tasting, licking into the hot, wet feel of Cas’ mouth. Cas tasted like the essence of life itself. Nothing Dean would ever be able to describe, but he wanted more of it.

Fuck that; he wanted _all_ of it.

In a scramble of activity, Dean pulled Cas fully onto him, his back forced uncomfortably flat on the hardwood with the excess weight, but he didn’t give a shit. Plastered together from chest to feet, Dean moaned at the feel of every hard line and soft spot. He wanted to explore each and every one.

And he badly wanted their clothes out of the goddamn way.

But for now, he needed more of that kiss, and more of the sudden grinding going on. Rolling his hips up, Dean explored Cas’ mouth with savage need, loving the way Cas fought him for control of the kiss. The firm glide of Cas’ tongue pushing at his, stroking in tandem only had Dean thinking of other things of he wanted rubbin’ together.

The thought alone pulled a desperate moan from his throat and he bucked his hips up hard enough that Cas grabbed his sides for purchase and let out a gruff exhale. To feel Cas’ hard sex digging against him was the last straw for Dean’s wavering patience. He grabbed at Cas, kissing hard enough to hurt. His hands wandered in hard, frantic sweeps, his fingers clawing at fabric along the way.

Desperation coiled in Dean and he spread his legs wide, letting Cas fall between his thighs and selfishly grind into the open vee he’d made. Cas was as rampant as he was, and Dean loved it. Loved the way Cas was everywhere at once, clouding his senses.

Heat was cranking up fast, and he needed to take a breather before they rode each other (clothes on) right through the fucking hardwood.

Pushing up on Cas’ shoulders, Dean broke the kiss. “Cas,” he breathed, heaving air like it was going out of style.

Above him, in a similar state, Cas rose up on his arms and stared down, waiting for Dean to say something more. Seeing Cas hovering over him, dark hair hanging over his forehead, lips kiss-swollen and shiny, Dean felt on the edge of an event. When you know something is about to happen and you’re gearing up for it, but unsure of the details.

The question was whether that event would be sex, or some other elusive revelation unknown to him. All he knew was that there was something there… just outside of his grasp.

Cas must’ve seen the uncertain turn of his thoughts because he said, “I’m sorry about… that man,” in an apprehensive tone, watching Dean carefully.

A flash of something, maybe a crude weapon flared across his mind and Dean blinked to try and reset. No idea where _that_ had come from. Instead, he pictured the average-sized man that had enraged him. “Who was he?” he snarled, surprised at the rough turn of his tone.

Despite the repartee, hot arousal continued to fog up his mind. Dean had never been more aware of another person before. Cas was there, alive and warm and breathtaking. More present than everything that surrounded him.

“No one you need to worry about,” assured Cas.

“From your past?”

Cas nodded and laid a palm on Dean’s cheek. “Yes.”

‘I don’t want to know,” he finally said. “I just want this.” Dean arched under Cas, implying clearly what he meant.

“Dean…” Cas dragged his name out, wistful and awed in the same breath. “I want this too.”

That settled that, he thought. The blaze of lust returned with a vengeance and another heated kiss broke out between them. There was a lot of grabbing and frantic thrusts for pressure, both of them wanting it bad but lacking on patience.

“We should,” Dean groaned as Cas’ tongue plunged his mouth, “maybe,” and then a hand grabbed his ass and hauled him up to crash against powerful hips, “ _uggh_ … go to your… room.”

In the best kind of reply, Cas purred against his lips and started to move. Cas roped Dean into a hold—one hand cupped the back of his neck and the other arm hooked around Dean’s lower back. They fumbled up from the floor, half-kissing, not letting go.

When Dean was on his feet, he was pushed and dragged and led down the hallway to Cas’ room. His lips stayed right where they were, glued to Cas’ mouth, kissing as if his life depended on it.

Guess they were making up for lost time.

Cas took the hem of Dean’s shirt in his hands and shoved it up to his chest. “I want to see you,” Cas growled, “all of you.”

Good God in Heaven. Dean nearly came from that comment alone. There was just something about Cas that made him feel split open and exposed, but wondrously safe. His threadbare t-shirt fell soundlessly to the floor and Cas suddenly stepped back, his eyes flared and wild with passion.

Dean stood on the hardwood, shirtless, knowing he was supposed to take his PJ bottoms off. Taking a beat, he met Cas’ blue eyes and felt a shot of nerves tighten his skin. Cas was going to see him naked… _aroused_ and naked. Something about that was funny to him, and a little scary. He couldn’t say why.

Hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his pants and boxers together, he started to work them down, and took a needed breath when they pooled at his feet and he stood up straight. He didn’t need to look, but he knew his cock was hard as nails and pointing at Cas like he were a friggin’ target. It felt heavy, poised stiffly between his legs as it waited for action.

Finally, Dean looked at Cas only to find Cas staring back.

“Your turn,” Dean said, sporting a crooked smile and crossing his arms.

Oh man, Cas blushed and started to undress in such a way that Dean’s jaw clenched. When his clothes were forgotten on the floor, he stood by the bed with his hands fisted at his thighs and raised his chin. Dean’s eyes roamed unapologetically. He’d wanted to see this, every plane of muscle, every protrusion of bone, all the dips and lines. His stare fell lower, to the thick erection that made Dean’s mouth water.

In a burst of action, Dean closed the space between them; remembering at the last second to tuck their cocks up out of the way. He crashed onto Cas’ mouth hard enough to hurt but not hard enough to stop, only a subtle wince and groan followed the collision.

Feeling Cas’ warm skin pressed against him, Dean instantly lost control. His mind spun with need and immediate gratification.

“I need you,” he groaned low, throwing his arm around Cas’ neck and pushing him onto the bed, both of them falling in a jumble.

Dean crawled over him, straddled his thighs and got nice and low until he felt the first heated drag of their dicks together, feeling so fucking good that he lost his breath.

“Oh… Dean.” Cas grabbed his shoulders and worked himself against Dean’s hips, rocking back and forth, their stiff lengths rubbing and bumping together. It was fucking mind blowing.

Slumping forward, putting most of his upper weight on his elbow, Dean peered into Cas’ dark blue stare and reached down between them. He took Cas into the warmth of his fist, exhaling in a stutter at how thick and hard Cas felt. Dean gave it a tentative stroke, just to see Cas’ eyes flutter and his mouth open up more. “Want to make you feel so good,” he said, meaning every word. Dean worked his hand lower, his fingers slipping back to tug Cas’ sac, gently pulling it away from his body. Cas whimpered and tried to spread his legs but Dean wouldn’t let it happen.

“Let me take care of you.” Dean squeezed up Cas’ hard shaft, relishing the way the skin slid over the hard core, the wet tip that greeted his fingers. “For once,” he added, “let me be the one to take care of you.”

“Dean…”

Instead of explaining something he didn’t understand, Dean kissed Cas and worked him up until he was panting and nearly thrashing under Dean. Only then did he finally slot them together, wrap his hand around both of them and start to pump in and out of his own hand, letting his cock drag all over Cas’ heated sex.

“Oh my god,” he mumbled, his face crushed into the crook of Cas’ neck, his hips shaking and jerking forward, his whole body doing its best to hold out until he felt Cas let go beneath him.

Cas’ hands slid up Dean’s neck and captured his face, pulling it to him for a breathless sloppy kiss. “Is this real?” Cas asked in a daze, not quite speaking to Dean. His beautifully-aroused expression stiffened and every hard line under Dean began to undulate. Thick, desperate moans poured out of Cas, and Dean was so wrapped up in watching him, feeling him, that he didn’t notice that Cas was gripping at the charm hanging from Dean’s until he was tugging hard enough that Dean felt the cord biting into the back of his neck. If anyone else had done that, Dean would’ve punched their fucking lights out, but Cas’ fist securing it made a peculiar kind of sense.

A rush of pleasure rocked through him and he knew he was close. Could’ve let it happen right then if he wanted. He needed Cas to finish first, wanted to be clear-minded to see every shudder storm through his body.

“Cas,” he begged, nipping at the man’s lips, “Ugghh… fuck, I want to see you… want you to come. Let go for me.”

In a startle of movement, Cas’ entire frame locked up and a choked sound squeaked out. And then his hips shot up, his cock ramming into Dean’s loose fist and the first hot pulse of come spilled free.

Watching Cas fall apart beneath him was more than enough to send Dean over. In the middle of Cas shooting out onto his own chest and stomach, Dean fell out of rhythm and let the first wave of release sing through his body.

Time suspended as he rode through his orgasm, his eyes closed and mouth hanging open. Between every pulse, he tried to focus on Cas’ gasps for breath, and contented sighs.

When clarity came back, and the room itself, and a clearer picture of Cas’ post-orgasm face, Dean only had one thing to say.

“Holy fucking shit.”

Cas chuckled. “Yes, my sentiments also.”

“I don’t think anyone’s ever turned me on this much before.”

Glancing down, Dean saw the sweetest smile on Cas’ face. “I guess… you’re welcome then.”

Overloaded with hormones, Dean burst out laughing and attacked Cas’ mouth in moan-laced kisses. When he’d satisfied himself there, he eased up, winked, and shuffled lower.

Starting at Cas’ neck, Dean lapped up a strip of come—not even sure whose it was—and then progressed down his front, tasting the mix of them as he went.

Small whispers of gratification rose above him and Dean smiled as he licked up their mess. With a last swipe of his tongue over Cas’ sated cock, earning himself the best after-sex whimper so far, he sat back on his heels and stared at the man who was quickly becoming the whole of Dean Campbell’s little world.

Rising up on his elbows, Cas said, “Shower?”

Dean nodded, half in a daze still, and climbed off the bed with wobbly legs. When they were both in the small bathroom and _accidentally_ bumping into each other, Dean surveyed the space for an adequate hook or post to hang his necklaces. The one from Sam had turned around on him and hung down his back, while the other—the one Cas had held tightly—was a warm weight between his pecs.

With a frown, Cas pointed at the door handle. “You could hang them here if you want. I’m sorry I don’t have any suitable hooks… I can get some…” Cas paused and looked away. “If, um, if this… continues.”

Dean crowded against him and cupped his chin, forcing Cas to meet his eyes. “It damn well better continue.”

Hmm, there was one of those exuberant smiles again. Fucking beautiful, he thought. “Good,” Cas said in clear relief, turning his back to Dean so he could fiddle with the shower controls to get the water temperature set.

Of course, now Dean was left staring at a gorgeous, muscular ass. Taking a small step forward, he placed his hands softly on Cas’ hips and pushed his flaccid dick right into the tempting crevice.

Startled, Cas went stock still with his hand under the flow of water and then abruptly dropped his head with a long sigh.

Dean laughed. “Couldn’t help myself.”

“That’s okay… definitely okay,” muttered Cas, as he continued to fix the water and then stood up.

Dean decided not to give him room. He quite enjoyed Cas’ entire back side lined up against his front. Leaning down at an angle, he pressed a kiss to Cas’ throat and then nudged him towards the tub. Taking a quick moment, Dean removed both cords around his neck and hung them carefully on the doorknob before joining the man already wet under the spray.

There was something about a long hot shower after fooling around. Every limb heavy and loose, legs that wobbled on knees that felt like they were made of rubber.

Dean soaped Cas up with a dopey smile on his face, and closed his eyes in relaxation when Cas did the same to him. They talked as they showered, but nothing important or memorable. Not until Cas noticed Dean’s stare darting back to the door at frequent intervals.

It wasn’t an obsession, he just had to make sure they were still there. He’d be real fucking surprised if he looked over and they’d hopped up off the handle by themselves but it could totally happen.

“Where did they come from?”

Dean squinted as he thought. “Uh, well, the shorter one I’ve had since I was about twelve or so. Sammy bought it a flea market, I think, from some old guy. Told me it would protect me,” he explained, finding the fond memory was stronger than the rest of his childhood.

When he looked at Cas to see his response, he was floored by the overwhelming affection in those blue eyes. “Your brother loves you very much.”

Dean couldn’t help it, he made a face. “Uh, yeah. _Anyway_ … the other one is harder to explain.”

As Dean searched for a way to describe his attachment to it without sounding crazy, Cas looked curiously at the door through the cheap warbled glass, focusing on the charm hanging from the handle, and asked, “Where did you find it? Did someone give it to you?”

The level of genuine perplexity marking Cas’ expression set off a distant red flag in Dean’s mind, but it was nothing more than a snag of attention. He barely noticed. “Actually I did find it. It was buried into the seat of my car. Never seen it before and figured it had to belong to one of my parents or something—though for the life of me I can’t remember either of them ever wearing it. Wasn’t exactly their style ya know.”

“It is… an interesting accessory.”

Dean quirked his lip, feeling a bit defensive. “What? You find it tacky?” He nudged Cas out of the way and ducked under the spray of the shower, closing his eyes to let the hot water sluice over his skin.

The murmur of Cas’ voice through the water came to him, “Not at all. I like it very much.”

Swiping the water from his face, he met Cas’ eyes already on him and felt the urge to give a deeper explanation—one he hadn’t ever provided to Sam. “Have you ever had something that means so much to you, it’s become… more than what it is. Some dumb meaningless nick-knack or… whatever the case may be, and it’s linked to a thousand memories, to smells and crosscuts of life you don’t even remember. D’ya get what I mean?”

The look on Cas’ face was muted, but thoughtful. “Like it has a soul of its own,” he surmised.

“Kinda.” Dean shifted away from the water to let Cas under and realized he was done showering, but damn reluctant to leave the warmth of the enclosed space. The hot naked guy beside him was an added incentive to stay.

Similarly, Cas was clean from top to bottom and simply stood under the raining heat and sighed, swiping the wet water from his eyes.

Dean watched him enjoy the moment, loving how his shoulders sagged and his head tipped back. With a content smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, he lithely moved to be flush against Cas’ front, his fingers linked together against Cas’ lower back.

“You ever have something like that?” he asked, returning to the conversation.

Cas thought it over, tipping his head to the side—Dean took the advantage and kissed his neck. With a responsive grin at the touch, Cas replied, “Hmm, yes… I used to have a coat that I was rather attached to.”

A coat? Dean’s eyes narrowed and once again he pondered how quirky this man was. Hot as hell, but weird. “Like a leather jacket from high school? That kinda thing?”

Shaking his head, Cas corrected him, “No, it was a very plain… coat. Nothing inherently special. But as you said, there are many memories tied to it, and it was sad when I lost it.”

“Maybe you could get another.”

Reaching back, Cas shut off the water. They’d been in there a while now and Dean had felt the water growing cool. “Maybe. I don’t imagine it would be the same.”

“Yeah, probably not.”

Crowded together on the bathmat, Dean toweled off awkwardly, laughing as he nearly elbowed Cas in the ribs.

“These bathrooms aren’t exactly designed for two grown men, are they?”

Cas chuckled and tucked his own towel around his hips. “No. Not exactly.”

It was late, and they were freshly showered and moving down the hallway to Cas’ room. Dean stopped to wonder about where the night might go. Implications of sleeping over had him stopping in his tracks.

“Is something wrong?” Cas asked, looking over his shoulder.

Dean shifted his weight and rubbed his opposite arm. “About me sleeping over…”

“You want to leave?” God, could those blues have gotten any bigger?

Looking at the floor, he began to ramble, “No, I don’t. Not at all. But I’m not ready for us to go any further right now, ya know with the sex stuff, and I hope that’s cool with you.” Dean paused and rubbed at his face. “It’s just… I dunno, Cas, you’re special and everything—not in a short bus kind of way; more like my heart’s gonna pummel out of my rib-cage kind of way which is honestly annoying as fuck. So, I guess what I’m saying is that I want things to be, like, friggin' special or whatever.”

Cue long awkward pause.

Dean sighed. “Stop looking at me like that.” Of course Dean was still noting the patterns of hardwood under his feet, but he could feel the eyes on him.

“Like what?” There was an undertone in Cas’ voice, inciting Dean to face him.

Taking the bait, Dean lifted his chin and zeroed in on the blue eyes watching him. There was no derision or judgement in Cas’ stare, which was a relief. It didn’t seem as if Cas was making fun of him. If anything, Cas didn’t seem surprised or bothered in the least. Though, Dean had wondered about Cas’ experience.

Maybe they both needed this budding relationship to move at a snail’s pace.

Cas traced his steps back down the hallway to Dean and looped his arms around Dean’s neck and brought them close. Dean could smell the cheap shampoo, and the sharper scent of Irish Spring.

“Dean… whatever you want, or don’t want, is yours.”

Lost in Cas’ shadowed fixed stare, Dean had the sense they weren’t really in that hallway. Everything about who they were and where they stood fell out of existence and Dean was just _Dean_ and standing against him was the one person on the whole planet who knew every corner of his soul.

Well. Sure as anything else, Dean was bat-shit crazy.

“I want you,” he finally said, a strange thought echoed: _Always wanted you._ Leaning in to steal a kiss, Dean took a steep breath and reset his disarray of emotions. Crazy as they were, they needed to be called into order.

When he stepped back, he added, “I want you, but I want _us_ … if that makes sense.”

“I understand.”

In the awkward silence after, Dean searched Cas’ face for an invitation. After all that he had to wonder whether he was sleeping over. But first, he needed to know if he was invited. When Cas stayed clueless and passed the weird silence contently staring at Dean’s unchanging features, Dean cleared his throat and asked.

“So… you still want me in your bed?”

Interrupted from a trance, Cas met his eyes and smiled wide. “I want you nowhere else.”

Friggin’ dork. Dean smirked and dished out a hard kiss and started to guide Cas, moving backwards, towards the room. When they almost tripped up from running into the bed, Dean slipped off their towels and stepped over to the right side. He climbed under Cas’ sheets, surrounded by the man’s intoxicating scent and waited for Cas to join him.

The bed creaked as Cas got in, the springs groaning under their weight. Man, the old mattress must’ve been creaking out a chorus of noise when they were fooling around before, not that he’d noticed. Most of Cas’ furniture was shitty, and the mattress wasn’t any better. If they weren’t already settled, he would’ve suggested they go across the hall, but instead he snuggled over to Cas under the covers and started to kiss him, not planning to take things further. He simply couldn’t fight the desire to delve into Cas’ mouth, wanting to feel the broad plush give of his lips, the slick heat of his mouth, and that rounding tongue.

“Mmng,” Dean moaned out of sheer satisfaction.

The teasing kiss continued, but it gradually turned aimless and sloppy as they grew tired. Dean resorted to lazily pursing his lips, taking each brush of Cas’ affections but too exhausted to return them.

Somewhere along the way, he fell asleep.


	11. Chapter 11

Dean’s alarm roused him out of sleep before the sun was up. The harmony of _Turn the Page_ , played from a distance and Dean tried to clear the cobwebs in his brain and remember where the fuck he’d left the stupid thing.

“S’nice song…” came a low rumble from the pillow beside him.

Sitting up and looking down next to him, Dean saw the familiar mess of brown hair and smooth skin. He reached over and traced the shape of Cas’ shoulder blade.

“It’s my alarm.”

Cas scrunched his face. “You can make a song your alarm?”

“Yup.” Not that Dean was anywhere near that kind of tech-savvy, but Sammy had done it for him and damn he was grateful.

“Hmm, much better than the irritating beeping that mine does.”

“I can change it for you if you want?” Or he’d try, and if he failed Dean would simply call on Sam to talk him through it, because he wanted to do things for Cas like this. Little stupid things that made his day better.

“Yes, I’d appreciate that. Thank you, Dean.” Turning onto his back, Cas looked over at him with a warm smile as he stretched on the bed from end to end.

What a damn view it was. All that expanse of skin ready for scouring with his hands and mouth. Too bad he had to work in an hour and a half.

“I’ll figure it out for you tonight,” he promised, throwing off the covers and moving through the apartment towards the repeated song. He found his phone on the beat up coffee table and had no idea how it’d ended up there.

In a flash, his seizure from the night before and what’d prompted it came to the forefront of his mind. He couldn’t shake the feeling that pompous douche had stirred in him. He knew he’d spend his day at the shop daydreaming of beating that guy to a pulp.

Swiping his thumb on the screen, he killed the replay of Metallica and checked his messages. There were a few from Sammy, mostly hyped up about his upcoming wedding anniversary. Kid loved the married life that was for sure.

Dean was secretly envious. As restless as he was in his current life, even knowing that being chained down to someone probably wouldn’t help, he acknowledged the part of him that craved constant companionship. Thinking about Cas and the idea of forever brought a myriad of emotions to the surface. He was getting far too invested in this. Cas was special to him, sure, but was he crossing the line? They were moving slow physically, but that didn’t stop the racing speed with which he’d grown attached to the man.

The dull padding of bare footsteps broke his inner reflections and he turned around to see Cas standing in the hallway.

Still gloriously naked. And then there was the amorous gaze Cas had set on him. Oh, and the impossible-not-to-notice erection he was showcasing.

“I’m gonna be late for work, aren’t I?”

Cas laughed and came towards him. “You can leave whenever you want.”

He exhaled a groan of frustration and pulled Cas in the moment he was in range. “If it was up to me, I would stay all day.”

“Then stay,” suggested Cas.

With their bodies pressed close, certain parts of a distracting nature prodding his hip, Dean bit his lower lip and closed his eyes. “You make that sound way too easy. I have a job. Job is needed for money… to pay bills and stuff.”

“Is it not a common practice for people to occasionally do something called hooky?”

Smirking at Cas, Dean moved his hands to frame Cas’ neck. “You don’t ‘ _do’_ hooky, you play hooky. But yeah, people do it, I guess. I’m not real big on it, but I never really had much of a reason before.”

A very naked and aroused Cas lowered his hands to Dean’s ass and squeezed. “Am I a good reason?”

Fuck. “Yes,” he ground out through his teeth, fighting the desire to stay with the responsibility to show up for work. It didn’t help that he liked his job and the Honda was supposed to be finished today. But… Cas was here and Dean wanted every moment with him. There was always that buried fear that Cas would be gone with no trace. He didn’t know where it stemmed from but it was potent enough to influence him.

Besides, as much as Dean didn’t _mind_ his job, he did loathe the monotony of it, the day-to-day expectations of nine to five life.

His thoughts diverted as Cas leaned in and opened his mouth over Dean’s collarbone, sucking at the hard ridge and leaving his skin wet and cool against the open air. His growing hard-on got an instant fresh flow of blood and expanded thick between them.

“Fuck, Cas… I think you’re becoming the bad influence here.”

A muddled, “Am not,” rose from the bend of his neck and Dean curled against Cas’ frame; hands combing into the back of his hair, a leg sliding up to hook around Cas’ thigh. He felt Cas’ fingers dig into the meat of his ass and the following groan was basically his cry of defeat.

“Need to… call in,” he mumbled, half dazed by the soft trail of Cas’ wet lips pinching at his sensitive skin.

“So call…”

On that note, Dean wondered where his phone had disappeared to. When Cas had strode down the hall all enticing and whatnot, he was sure he’d been holding his phone, but now his hands were buried in Cas’ sleep-mussed hair.

Twisting his neck to look around, he noticed his phone placed unstably on the arm of the nearby sofa. Huh, how efficient of him. Not able to escape Cas’ ministrations, Dean picked up his phone and stood in the enclosure of Cas’ arms to place the call. Man, he better not moan during this or it would look real bad.

It started to ring. Camden answered, “Dean? What’s up?”

“Uh,” Wow, it was hard to concentrate with Cas sucking at his neck and getting in a little hip-rubbing action.

“Dean?”

“Yeah! Sorry, I’m here… I can’t… _ahh,”_ Holy hell, Cas had just fingered down the cleft of his ass. “Can’t make it in today.”

“Shit. Another one of those seizures?”

Well, Dean thought, the boss wasn’t totally wrong. “Yes, yeah. It was a bad one. I’m…” About to have an orgasm on the phone with my boss. “Not in any state to be working.” Again, not wrong.

“Don’t sweat it, Dean. I’ll call my nephew in to cover the remaining work on the Honda. Take care of yourself.”

“Uh-huh.” Dean hung up and tossed his phone onto the soft cushion of the couch. It slipped towards the crack and would probably get lost. Not that he cared.

With the phone call ended, playing nice was off the table. Dean took Cas’ face between his palms and attacked him with a kiss, pushing his lips apart and sinking his tongue inside.

In a short few minutes, they were stumbling down the hall to Cas’ room. It was an excellent way to start the day. There were needs making themselves known, like being fed and the low-level urge to empty his bladder but none of it demanded his attention. Pleasuring Cas most definitely did.

And that was exactly what he did. Propping Cas up against the back wall by the window in his bedroom, Dean lowered to his knees and served up a top-shelf blow job.

It wasn’t his first, but he had never enjoyed it more. The thick feel of Cas’ cock between his lips and heavy on his tongue was deliriously good. He moaned with every leak of precome, and was so hell-bent on pleasuring Cas that he came close to choking himself more than once.

In less than fifteen minutes, by his estimate, Cas was shaking and trying not say the word ‘fuck’ on repeat. The guy was failing miserably and Dean absolutely loved it. There was something pointedly sexy about Cas swearing so casually.

“Fuck! Dean… Oh, fuuuck. _Fuuuck!_ ”

A feral moan rose out of him the moment Cas’ hips jerked involuntarily and his throat was rammed by a blunt cock and immediate spurts of warm come flooded into him, leaving him no choice but to take it down.

“Oh, fuck… that’s what I’ve been missing!?” Cas nearly yelled.

Stunned by the comment, Dean pulled off and looked up. “Whoa, whoa, whoa… You’ve never had a blowjob before?” Cas had to be in his thirties, that just didn’t add up.

Every flicker of satisfaction dropped from Cas’ expression and he nervously swallowed and started to visibly scramble for a way to respond.

“Cas?” The man sighed in response and Dean got to his feet. Goddammit, he could still taste Cas on his tongue.

“As you already know… my life was chaotic. It simply never happened…”

Dean peered hard into his eyes, looking for the truth. Strange words rose to his mind, something about clouds but none of it made sense. “Are you a virgin?”

“No,” Cas said warily. “But…”

“But what?”

“I’ve had intercourse with a woman. It wasn’t… it wasn’t the best experience in hindsight. Um, but… I haven’t had relations with men. Not counting anything with you obviously.”

Cas refused to meet his eyes and Dean realized that this was one of the first honest things Cas had ever said to him. And either because of it or some other reason, Dean wasn’t put off by his inexperience. If anything, he was thrilled knowing that no other man had been allowed to touch Cas the way he did.

“I guess it’s smart we’re taking things slow then, huh?”

Rolling his eyes, Cas replied, “Yes, but don’t worry about me, Dean. I’m… ready when you are.”

Following that hefty piece of knowledge, Dean swept his mind free of images of them fucking each other senseless and suggested they eat breakfast.

“Are you sure?” Cas looked down at Dean’s determined erection.

Huh, he’d forgotten all about it. “Positive.” Dean brushed Cas’ lips with a kiss and then scoured the floor for his comfy clothes from yesterday. They were thrown on after his shower and not even close to dirty yet.

Dean learned that Cas’ cooking skills were limited. And while the spaghetti had been exceptional, his cupboards and fridge indicated a serious lack of exploits in the kitchen.

Enter: Dean.

Course he had to take a trip across the hall, but in short order he’d whipped up his staple breakfast of over-easy eggs, buttered toast, bacon, and fried potato cubes. The potatoes took a while, but he wanted Cas to try everything. He wanted Cas to experience everything.

Sat at the table, quietly enjoying the meal, Dean made an offhand comment, “Better than PB and J, isn’t it?”

It’d been innocuous, he’d thought. But Cas suddenly dropped his fork and stared across the table. “Dean?”

Gaping back, he responded with, “Yeah?” wondering why the heck Cas was giving him such an odd look.

“Do you feel okay?”

Scrunching his nose and profoundly confused, Dean repeated his last response more firmly and tacked on, “Why, is something wrong? Am I, like, suddenly bleeding from my eyeballs or something?”

Cas shook his head, looking haunted and blindly picked up his fork. “Never mind. It’s nothing.”

Over the course of the day, through dishes and TV and a trip to the store to get snacks, Dean kept getting the occasional oddball stare from Cas. It should’ve put a damper on the day, but it barely made a dent.

He was enjoying the constant company. He loved Cas’ presence next to him. When they were watching a movie in Dean’s apartment late in the afternoon, all cuddled and finding new ways to touch, he said, “I never expected this.”

Half dozing in his arms, Cas answered, “What do you mean?”

Honestly, he had no fucking clue what he meant. That statement was true nevertheless. “I think however I explain I’ll sound like an idiot, so let’s say I’m happy and leave it at that.”

Cas threaded their fingers together over his chest. “…Because of me?” Cas wondered nervously.

With a low chuckle, Dean answered, “Yes, what else d’ya think I meant?”

“I don’t know. I, um, just wanted to confirm. Wanted to be sure.”

“You know, you’re really weird sometimes.”

An honest laugh shook Cas’ frame. “Yes, you’ve mentioned that.”

Had he? Guess he had at some point. “It’s okay though… I’m not clear of problems by a long shot so guess we’ve both got some hang-ups. Speaking of weird and us and everything… tell me something?”

“Anything…”

What was with the sudden open book? Cas must be out of it more than he thought. Maybe he could pull chunks of info from him when he was like this. It would really shut up any lingering worries if he knew more about Cas’ past. In an effort to encourage Cas to be a little more verbally… _loose_ … he unlaced his fingers from Cas’ and started to rub the man’s chest and sides.

“Anything, huh? Alright, I want to hear about where you”—Dean paused—“came from, I want to know your story. I want to know what brought you to me…” He ended his plea for information and waited patiently.

It was a while before Cas answered him, and only when Dean’s touch had started to rouse small pleased moans from him. “I came from a _very_ religious family,” he began, and Dean knew it was true. “They had many rules, and they had… plans for… a lot of things. Due to a particular set of circumstances, I had become central to certain… _plans_ … and it led me to these two men.” Dean paused his movements for a brief second before he resumed and Cas went on, “They were so different from my family. Better despite their lack of adherence to God’s teachings, or at least, as they are applied to current structures of society. Over time I lost faith in my own family, I had doubts—“

A bright image of a park in midday sprung to mind and Dean could no longer hear what Cas was saying. Instead, he _saw_ Cas. He saw him sitting on a bench wearing a long beige trenchcoat, staring towards the horizon with uncertainty written across his features. Dean wanted to tell him that everything would be okay, but it wasn’t real.

The park and every detail of it slipped out of his mind and his living room came back into view, with Cas nestled between his legs and relaxed against his chest. Dean’s hands had ceased moving, they were wrapped around Cas’ wrists and the man in question had stopped talking.

“Dean… talk to me.”

“I-I’m sorry… mind got away from me there. Dick move, keep talking. Please…”

Cas hesitated, and Dean felt him try to twist in place in an effort to see Dean’s face, no doubt wanting to read him better. He debated stopping the motion, but relented and shifted to give Cas room. When their eyes found each other, Cas squinted, like he were looking past the surface.

There was something happening, he thought. Like that nightmare he had about the house in flames, and the first time he saw Cas… and…

Dean cut off his thoughts and focused on the lines of blue in Cas’ eyes. They were breathtaking. They were strangely familiar. More than they should be, and despite the comfort he took from them, he felt fear somewhere. Fear of separation, fear of the unknown, fear of this sudden strike of borderline insanity.

What was happening? Why did he feel so fucking adrift all of a sudden?

“Dean,” Cas spoke firmly, “tell me your birthday.”

“January 24th, 1979.”

With a curt nod, Cas settled back and just picked up where he left off, “Anyway, doubts led me to a different purpose—a much better one in my opinion. I fell out of favour with my brethren and gained a new life. No less chaotic than life with my family had been, but I was much happier.” Cas suddenly snorted. “Well… at parts.”

“Were you in love with someone?” he asked, not sure why but needing the answer more than any other truth Cas might tell him.

Following a weighted silence, Cas whispered, “Yes.”

Dean expected to feel angry, annoyed, or hurt. Maybe all of the above. Instead, his heart seemed to surge like the goddamn thing was happy. Yet again, he wondered why the hell he was so mixed up all the time. Last night’s seizure and the fact that he hadn’t been taking his meds might have something to do with how he felt now.

Dammit… maybe his condition was getting worse. Scared about what might be wrong with him, Dean stomped out the emotion and opened his mouth. “You know a lot more about a lot of things, don’t you,” he stated, not making it a question. He already knew the answer.

Cas said, “I know a lot about things that aren’t important. I was taught the things that matter.”

Stark silence alerted Dean to the fact that the movie had stopped. He wasn’t sure when. He let the quiet settle and didn’t know what to say. His brain was in shambles and he was afraid of it. There were no headaches, no impending seizure he could sense just yet, but things were mixed up in there and it really bothered him.

After several minutes, Cas started to turn in place. Arms wound around Dean’s waist and drew him lower on the couch so he his feet were all the way at the other end and his head rested on the pillow that had previously been tucked behind his back. Shadowing his face, Cas closed in and started to kiss him.

Feeling Cas’ tongue tease the seam of his lips, Dean instantly went lax—both body and mind. He opened his mouth and savoured the invasion that followed. He didn’t have a plan but he wanted to feel Cas’ skin, so he started to guide their t-shirts off, and push pants down so they’d be out of the way.

When they were half-naked and in total disarray on the couch, he pulled back from the kiss. “I don’t deserve you, I don’t think.”

Cas scoffed and kept kissing him. They kissed until they were hard and rubbing together, kissed until his lips were sore. And when he wanted more, Cas was already easing off and directing his mouth to other places.

Watching Cas’ thick lips pucker and place reverent kisses down the line of his stomach, Dean had the bizarre urge to cry and he didn’t know why and fuck that was _so_ not happening now. Biting down on the inside of his cheek, he followed Cas’ progress and inhaled sharply through his nose when Cas was low enough that his chin, scruff and all, bumped into Dean’s stiff sex.

“Oh, fuck…” Something about what Cas was gonna do was wrong and Dean knew it. He’d no idea why and maybe it had to do with Cas’ ramble about having a religious family. Because the thought of Cas’ mouth sealed around his cock was definitely a sin. The fact that they were men hadn’t even occurred to him, this was a different kind of sin.

Cas looked up, perched over Dean’s groin and said, “Is this okay?”

All he could manage was a subtle nod, his full attention was on the way it all looked. His pants were around his thighs. Cas’ were half off, still shackled around his right ankle and hanging off the couch.

After a second’s assessment, Cas grabbed Dean’s shaft with his fist and held it up. “I hope my skills are sufficient,” Cas commented, and then parted his lips nice and wide and lowered over Dean’s cock until half of it’s length was encased in the humidity of Cas’ mouth… just barely touching in places, no pressure to ease the sudden ache. Dean waited… and stared, and waited…

Cas slid his forefinger and thumb to the base of Dean’s shaft and then sank his face further, deeper towards Dean’s pelvis. Only when he was near the root did he seal his mouth tight around Dean, closing him in from all sides and driving him insane with the sudden overload of hot suction.

“Holy God,” Dean rasped out, his hands moving down in a haste to cradle Cas’ head. Slowly, Cas rose up, sucking every inch along the way and Dean felt his breaths come faster.

Arousal roared in him as Cas started to suck the crown, tongue teasing the underside and curling around. Fuck, he was gonna come in seconds at this rate, and would rather this go on for an hour if he could have his way. He restrained the desire to thrust up, but barely. To make up for the urge, he teased himself by clenching and unclenching his ass, making him nearly desperate for Cas to finger him, but he was reluctant to ask. It would be another line to cross, another push into some strange oblivion with this man.

“Fuck yes…” he breathed when Cas took nearly all of him in and hummed around his shaft. Oh god, he wanted to spread his legs, but his pants wouldn’t let him. Dean scratched through Cas’ hair with short fingernails, wanting to add pressure, wanting to fuck Cas’ mouth because he knew Cas could handle it rough and why the fuck was he thinking that. Cas had said he was inexperienced, but it didn’t translate the same as it would for anyone else. Because Cas was powerful… _A fighter._

At some point, he’d dreamt of this. But the details were off. The surroundings were wrong. It didn’t matter. He told Cas what he wanted, “I want to go deeper Cas… please, fuck, can I… can I push into you?”

A vibrating deep groan flooded the room with sound and Dean took that as an enthusiastic hell yes. But first things first…

“Take my pants off,” he demanded, pulling Cas’ head away from his cock. Sitting up, Cas threw him a seriously heated look and all but ripped his pants off his legs and threw them across the room. Getting into position, Cas braced his hands on either side of Dean and lowered his face over Dean’s dick, taunting him into action.

“Oh my fucking god… Cas…” Dean bit his lips and took Cas face’ in his hands, his thumb swiped over and dipped into Cas’ mouth. “Perfect… you know that…”

With his thumb hooked into Cas’ mouth, he guided that beautiful mouth open and pushed his hips up and nearly buried his thick cock all the way, stopping the second Cas’ eyes flared wide. He waited for the shock of it to settle before he gave in to his needs. Canting his hips, Dean pumped his hard sex into Cas’ mouth in shallow bursts, starting to curse and sweat.

This was definitely the sort of thing that sent you to Hell. Oh, more than definitely, he thought, as he sank deeper in a slow-steady push before resuming his pace.

Cas hummed, his eyes fluttering as he let Dean hold him in place and continuously drive past his lips and nudge the back of his throat with very little breaks between. As the peak of his pleasure started to unwind him, Dean began to lose control and felt drawn to a different version of himself… a harsher man that wanted honest, unhinged sex with Cas.

“D’ya want me t’stop?” he mumbled, trying not to unravel his control.

A loud throaty sound pierced right through him, the sound vibrating down to his balls and Cas forced himself up, breaking through Dean’s grip on his head and greeted Dean’s fierce stare with a hard one of his own. “With me… you can let go, Dean… you can always let go. You know it’s okay… I can handle it. I _want it_.”

The heated gaze ramped up and Dean swore crudely. Mesmerized by Cas’ coaxing gaze, Dean placed his hands back where they were, holding firm, and guided Cas into position. His mouth dropped in awe as he watched Cas open up for him, and because Dean was a fucking tease, he only nudged the head of his cock into the warmth of Cas’ mouth. Drawing back, he watched Cas’ upper lip shape itself around the ridge. The sight was enough to have his cock throbbing, jerking in a surge of arousal and popping out of Cas’ mouth. They both smiled out of sheer elation, drunk on the high of sex.

Biting his lip, Dean raised his hips again and invaded Cas’ mouth with his dick—stopping the same as he had before and smirking down at Cas. It was breathtaking to watch Cas grow tense, only guessing when the first full thrust would no doubt startle him.

“Watching you right now…” Dean sighed, “best fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

It happened then, without preceding thought; his hips simply jerked forward of their own volition and Dean cried out as he watched Cas take him in almost all the way. He watched those blue eyes, saw the passion grow in them and he knew they were on the same page. Something raw had sprung up here and he wasn’t sure where it’d come from but he started to rock his hips up and down, relishing in the wet snug hold all around his shaft and the barrier of Cas’ throat greeting the blunt tip of his cock.

Cas choked suddenly and Dean eased off and panted as he waited for Cas to be ready for more. And back it started, just as rushed and discordant as before. Dean felt sweat and Cas’ spit running over his sac and towards his ass and, oh mother of fuck, he wanted Cas to touch him there. Just a little.

“Cas,” he whimpered, spreading his legs in invitation. “Cas… touch me,” he said, hoping he would understand.

Shifting his weight onto one arm, Cas moved his other between Dean’s thighs and he felt fingers suddenly tugging his sac and brushing past his perineum and then… “Yeah, fuck, Cas… oh my God, touch me.”

Wanting to feel Cas’ fingers brushing over his asshole, he slowed the pace of everything else. Opting to hold Cas head with one hand and his own dick with the other. Dean used his grip on Cas’ crazy mess of hair to bob him up and down.

“Holy shit,” he ground out between his teeth the second he felt Cas drag a touch over his clenched ass. The rubbing kept up, and then gentle prods that had him wanting to scream in a mix of pleasure and irritation.

Why did Cas have to moaning that way around his already aching cock. Dean wasn’t gonna last much longer. Just knowing that Cas was getting off somehow, almost just as bad as he was… Fucking sexy, is what that was. Goddamn sexy.

Heart beating faster, louder, Dean watched Cas suction and swallow him down while at the same time the pressure against his ass increased. Fucking yes… a little more.

Dean was so close, he was ready to burst. He palmed Cas’ head, threading his fingers into all that soft hair and started to work into Cas’ mouth in earnest, crying out in desperation to finish. Cas was taking it, and he had no idea how that was possible.

The fingers teasing his rim moved towards his cock and Dean felt the indicative swipes for excess slickness.

“Cas!” he yelled, frustrated. Too damn on edge. Cas knew what he wanted and he’d better give it soon. Dean was about twenty seconds away from release and he needed to feel Cas’ long, perfect fingers in his ass.

Waves of pleasure were rising fast and hard, teetering on the brink of going over. His orgasm was really fucking imminent. “Cas,” he whined this time. Wondering what the holdup was, he flicked his eyes down to see a gleam of mischief in Cas’ eyes.

Fucking tease! He tried to growl, but a whimper came out instead.

The following second, Dean was jolted by a sudden burn as two fingers buried into him, forcing a stretch that was such a perfect mixture of bliss and discomfort that his orgasm rocked his entire body so hard his vision went black. Awareness of the moment was limited to the pulses of euphoria surging through his veins, and the low sound of Cas groaning through it all, sinfully muffled as Dean came down his throat. Every throb of release echoed in the convulsive tightening of his rim around Cas’ fingers, and it was nearly enough to drag a second climax from him.

When Cas eventually pulled up, sucking his sated cock every last inch to the end, Dean was cursing the fact that he’d signed up for a shift tonight.

“Fuckin’ hell that was awesome,” he praised, going lax on the couch. He reached out to lazily pull Cas down, not caring where he landed so long as they were touching more.

The weight of Cas’ head settled on his stomach and Dean played with his hair, twisting the softness through his fingers and scraping over his scalp, loving Cas’ purrs of happiness.

After a few minutes, Dean said, “Are you okay? That, uh, got a little out of hand…”

In response, Cas chuckled and hugged around his hips. “Watching you that way, being the one to experience it finally is definitely something I am more than okay with. You’re utterly breathtaking in the throes of ecstasy.”

Man, Cas had an odd way of speaking sometimes. _The throes of ecstasy?_ More like: _Damn_ , I like watching you squirm and swear a lot. And what the heck had he meant by “finally”? It wasn’t as if they hadn’t fooled around already. Dean was tempted to ask, but brushed it aside instead.

“And you’re damn hot when you’re sucking me off. I think I’ve had a dream about it before, but this was way fucking better. Hands down.”

After a few TV shows and a quick dinner, Dean finally needed to get organized for work at the bar. It was an early shift and not a very long one, but he had to work tomorrow at the shop so he was free to take off at eleven.

That night he laid in bed and had a few minor freak outs about how quickly things were moving with Cas. He was falling hard for the guy, and they barely knew each other still. There was a lot Dean inherently trusted about him, but his brain poked at him with hesitations and banked fear. In all his life, Dean couldn’t remember feeling this way, this cosmic pull at the centre of his chest. He felt heavy with the depth of the incessant emotion, knowing that it had grown into this beast.

Dean would be crushed if something bad happened. And it didn’t matter what it was in the end; anything that destroyed what was building with Cas would break something in Dean.


	12. Chapter 12

Work passed in a blur, and the worry he’d fallen asleep with the night before rose as the day progressed. He wanted to put it aside, he wanted to crowd out his nagging thoughts with something else and so when he got a text from Sam about going out for a beer later, he decided to invite Cas along.

It was high time his brother and Cas met. He knew they’d get along and couldn’t wait for the three of them to be lined up at a bar throwing back shots. Ducking quickly into his apartment, Dean showered and changed in record time and crossed the hall with a smile on his face.

After a happy-sounding knock, he was greeted by a smiling Cas. Dean returned the expression and said, “So my brother and I are gonna head out for a drink tonight and I’d love it if you came along.”

Cas paused, smile fading. “You… and Sam?”

“Yeah,” Dean confirmed. “Is that cool? I really want you to meet my brother.”

“Um, of course. Are we leaving now?”

Sam would be a half hour behind them but they could definitely show up to a bar early. “Ready when you are!”

In the middle of the hallway, moving back towards his room, Cas turned and said, “You seem to be in a good mood.”

“Always am around you.” It was absolutely true. But the pain flared, the pain he didn’t understand. Like a lot of things lately, he masked it and pushed it from his mind.

Cas changed from his sweater into a plain white button-up, knowing that the bar would be stuffy as most of them were. They took a cab to the place he was meeting Sam, a more halfway point between their two places. Dean was giddy with the distraction, and the impending meeting between his brother and his… What was Cas? A boyfriend? A future something…

Another role sprung to mind. _Savior._

Dean looked at Cas suddenly. They were standing between two stools, waiting for their drink order and he studied Cas’ calm expression, blue eyes searching the room. It was the way someone often looked out for a familiar face. But Cas wouldn’t know what Sam looked like so it didn’t matter.

_Savior_.

There was that word again. It annoyed him. He actually preferred to think of Cas as his boyfriend, and Dean hated that. It sounded immature. They were men, and men weren’t boyfriends.

“Dean, is something wrong?” asked Cas, eyes fixed on him with concern.

He rubbed at his face and schooled his thoughts into order. Their beers were waiting on the steel bartop and Dean snatched it and drowned the neck in a couple swallows.

After half the beer was gone, he saw Sam’s flowing mane top out across the room. Damn his brother would make a Giraffe jealous. Why hadn’t Dean been graced with another few inches.

Striding over with a wide smile, Sam stepped up to them. Immediately, his eyes shifted to the man on Dean’s left. “Sam,” he gestured with pride, “meet Cas!” Dean turned to see Cas’ face and was struck by the expression on it.

Affection had softened every line and the man extended his palm for Sam to take, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sam.”

God, what was with the seriousness?

Sam’s brows pulled together and he flashed a look towards Dean before facing Cas again. “Yeah,” he said, “Yeah, you too.” Sam too was all serious. Damn, it wasn’t like Dean was introducing someone famous here.

“Alright!” Dean cut in. “Now that that’s over with, let’s have a few drinks and enjoy the evening.”

Sam chastised him with a look. “A few drinks? Dean you have work tomorrow.”

He knew that, but his earlier state of mind wasn’t allowed back into play and Dean knew booze would go a long way to help with that. “Don’t be a party-pooper, Sammy!” Placing an order for another round of beers, even though he and Cas weren’t quite done yet, Dean guided them to a high table with four stools around it. “This’ll do.”

They all took a seat, Cas sitting closer to Dean than was probably appropriate on a night out with his brother, but he craved the proximity. It was all good. Cas was here and Sam was here… and the ambiance was perfect.

Conversation began with Sam trying to embarrass Dean, but it thankfully didn’t last very long. There were some pointed silences or dodged answers from Cas as Sam plied him with questions about his past. There was a curious insistence to Sam’s inquisition, and Dean thought it went beyond the whole, “Dean’s my brother and if you hurt him, I’ll mess up your face.” But even the banter between them cleared his mind the way nothing else did.

After a while, Dean sat back with his beer and watched Sam and Cas debate the effect of what they called the “Netflix epidemic,” with Sam adamant that the ability to bingewatch media was giving way to a brainless society. Whereas Cas, on the other hand, was quite a supporter of the streaming vids. Not that Dean was surprised.

He watched in silent appreciation as Cas raised a beer to his lips with a smile on his face. He swallowed the liquid down, Adam’s apple bobbing. Dean shifted his gaze to Sam, whose head was thrown back in laughter about God knew what.

They’d done this before, he thought at random. There was distinct and potent case of déjà vu claiming his take on reality. He snorted and raised his beer to his mouth for a needed drink.

“What was that for?” asked Sam.

Shrugging, he just said, “Déjà vu.”

It was normal for that to happen, wasn’t it? Absolutely no reason for Cas to suddenly choke on the sip he’d just taken. Coughing and clearing his throat, Cas abruptly faced him, face awash with concern. “Are you okay? How’s your head?”

Dean shot a look at Sam and then directed it back to Cas, he felt his eyebrows pinch together. “I’m fine… why?”

“Oh.” Cas sat back, looked confused and then went back to his beer. “I don’t get it,” he said cryptically and swallowed a mouthful.

Dean exchanged a look with his brother and they shrugged simultaneously and all of them chugged the remainder of their beers. The night wore on and around eleven, Sam was arguing with Dean about why he had to leave. He had school in the morning, and Dean should go to because he had work and he shouldn’t have had all the beers… and then those shots. Cas was laughing. Giddy, cuteness crinkling beside his eyes, and his perfect nose all scrunched up. Dean loved it, wanted to take a picture of the moment in case… in case. Well. You know. If shit went bad.

Sam won the battle of wills and waved as he vacated the bar of dwindling patrons. It was the middle of the week, not exactly the hoppin’ time for most.

With his brother out of the way, Dean swiveled his chair towards Cas and grinned wide. “Hey hotstuff.”

Cas licked his bottom lip, looked fucking meek of all things. “You’re intoxicated,” said Cas. But the deep voice was slurred the same as Dean’s and they both knew it.

“So are you,” he fired back. Dean slipped his hand under the table and stoked the inside of Cas’ thigh, watching a flush of red darken his cheeks. “Fuck, you’re beautiful. And Cas, I do not call dudes beautiful… but you’re…” he trailed off, caught for the right word.

Holding his eyes, Cas whispered, “…Different?”

Yeah, that’s definitely what Cas was. Different, and also foreign, and yet Dean’s. He knew that. Down to his core, that Cas was his somehow. It was a timeless thing, existing beyond his comprehension. It went further than his intelligence to understand the breadth of it.

Jesus. Was he drunk or high? Dean laughed and leaned in, “You’re mine,” he muttered possessively. Knowing the words weren’t meant to be harsh at all, but they were true.

Cas closed his hand around Dean’s wrist, suddenly staring at him with sharp intensity. “Yes, always. No matter the circumstances… I am yours, Dean.”

And it went both ways. His heart was locked up in an iron cage and only Cas had access to it. It hit him full force that he was in love. Not that he was surprised, but he’d adamantly refused to admit it before. Now, he couldn’t escape the truth. It ached in every muscle, etched into his bones.

“This is serious,” he said, nodding his head.

Cas stared back quizzically. “Let’s go home.”

Yeah, that was a good idea, he thought. Dean was led from the bar, didn’t remember paying but not present enough to care. The cab ride home was long and short at the same time. Cas held his hand and leaned close to him.

By the time they were in the hall, Dean had Cas pressed up against the man’s door and was ravishing him in stark desperation. Not the good kind, but the wired kind. He clawed at Cas’ loose clothes, hating that they’d come from a thift shop, and kissed Cas’ mouth until his lips were swollen.

In the midst of tongues groping together and invading past lips, Dean realized he was rubbing it out against Cas’ hip, moaning loudly into the hall. They should get inside. Determined to keep things going, he stepped back and looked at Cas’ debauched state, mostly so he could tell him to unlock the damn door.

But faced with the image of Cas that way, clothes in disarray, hair wild and standing on end. Dean saw another image. Of Cas on a stone floor amidst fallen books, his lips painted with blood… the blue eyes were staring up at him. Dean threw out a fist. It collided with Cas’ cheek; blood sprayed a nearby book. Fire burned his soul and Dean saw himself hit Cas again. Why was he doing that?

“Dean?”

Startled back to the hallway, Dean felt like an era had whipped by him at full speed. “What happened?” he asked, his voice strained and thin.

“You stepped back… and you just… Dean what did you re— _see. What did you see?”_ Cas worded carefully, starting to move forward.

Dean threw out his hand. “I’m okay. Didn’t see anything, just a daze. Think I’m a bit more wasted than I thought. Probably too drunk to keep it up,” he laughed, but it was rickety. “I’m gonna go to bed.” Dean lunged forward, pressed a chaste kiss to Cas’ lips and turned on his heel, unlocked his apartment pretty damn fast for a drunk person and closed the door behind him.

Inside, he raced to his kitchen, tore open the fridge and grabbed a beer. Not that he needed it, but he _needed_ it. After that he whipped out his phone and texted Ritchie. There was a storm brewing in his mind, and he wasn’t ready for it.

“ _Need it now.”_ Was all he needed to send to the guy.

In twenty-eight minutes precisely, there was a subtle rap on the door. Dean jogged to the door and flung it open to be greeted by a weary-looking Ritchie.

“Awfully cryptic and urgent of you, Dean. Everything alright?”

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and ushered the guy in. “Fucking love problems of all things. I need to give my mind a break. Will that shit do the trick?”

Slowly, Ritchie nodded. “It’ll distract you. Can’t say if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. Now, besides the booze you taking anything else Handsome-D? Don’t want any OD’s on my hands. This is _not_ Pulp Fiction, man.”

He readily shook his head. Hadn’t taken his meds in fucking days. What was the point anyway? He was all sorts of fucked up, stupid pills weren’t the answer.

“Alright. But, uh, you won’t exactly be in any shape to come to work tomorrow. And you already skipped out on Tues—“

“Cut the shit and give me the damn drugs,” Dean almost shouted.

“Jesus,” Ritchie groused. “Here”—he handed Dean a packet of pills—“one and no more than one. Never more than one a day, got it?”

Agreeing with a hardened stare, Dean snatched the small baggie and opened it up, taking a single pill between his fingers and putting it on his tongue. He swallowed it dry.

“Thanks. I’ll see ya later,” he said, walking forward to try and guide Ritchie gone from his apartment.

At the door, his coworker and friend hesitated. “I’m worried about you.”

“Aren’t we all!” Dean said sarcastically and then gave Ritchie a little shove and shut the door behind him.

It was quick. Holy shit, it was quick. An instant sweat broke out across his skin and he felt his nerves tingle. His brain flooded with thoughts, but none of them important or bothersome. He thought about food and his car and breasts and a mouth around his cock.

Fuck, his skin was on fire.

Dean made his way into the kitchen and drank some water. He headed off to the couch with his phone in his hand. That was probably a bad move.

The moment his body crushed the cushions, his weight sinking deep, deeper past the fabric. It was like he was falling through the furniture to a world of sensation and strange images. He saw a dark forest filled with red eyes and demented monsters running towards him. He saw unfamiliar faces, some smiling at him, some not. Dean looked down at a broken stone, utterly baffled.

He saw swords, guns, endless weapons. There was glimpses of torture. His and others, and none of it made sense. And then he remembered Cas going to school. No wait… _Sam_ , Sam had gone to school. Yeah, and he was great at it. He dropped out though… because Dad was mad.

No, that wasn’t right. Sam had excelled. Sam was a genius, and so patient with his students. And there was the wife. Curly hair? She had curly brown hair, right? What was her name? No name, he thought about the yellow and black labels from the grocery store.

He was hungry.

Dean picked up his phone and texted Sam. “ _Yellow and black labels Sam. I need that and you need a dog I think.”_

A long, long while later, or maybe three seconds, he wasn’t sure, Sam’s message pinged back. _Ping-ping!_ Dean smiled and read out loud, “How drunk are you, Dean?” He laughed. “How drunk am I! Come on Sammy, I can handle my liquor. I can handle anything, I can handle a fucking vamp’s nest if I fuckin’ wanted.”

God, where had that insane shit come from? Dean snorted and typed a reply, grinning at his stellar spelling skills under the influence. “ _Bring me food… greasy food. And a weapon. I should have a weapon. My hand feels empty without one.”_

He hit send and then leapt off the couch in search of a weapon. Why the hell did he live without a gun! That was bad, he thought sternly at himself, that was so stupid. Man, what would Dad think if he saw Dean now. Off his game, nothing but a wrench monkey.

His phone made some more noises but the pinging started to upset him. They sounded like beeps at the hospital. People died at hospitals.

There was a man staring back at him in the mirror, Dean watched his reactions. They had the same nose and freckles. But they were different. Something had been split along the way.

“Dean!”

Yes, he thought to the mirror, that’s our name, but there’s more—

“Dean, where are you?!” the voice grew closer and Dean reflected on the question. Yes, he wanted to know that too, where am I? Where did I go? I need to get back.

Behind him, Sam burst into the bathroom and cursed in a sharp abrasive sound. “What the fuck, Dean! It’s the middle of the night! What the hell did you take?!”

He laughed, “Alphabet soup.” Oh yeah! Sam used to eat alphabet soup. Dean used to make it for him. “You liked it, remember!” he shouted.

“Oh my god. What the fuck, Dean.” Sam’s voice was angry, harsh around the edges. Dean felt his brother’s hands on his shoulders and he hated that it felt good because that was definitely very wrong. The walls passed by, they had a lot of paintings on them he was sure he hadn’t purchased. One depicted an angel clutching a man’s shoulder.

“What a weird painting,” he mumbled.

Sam sat him down on the couch. “Look at me.”

Dean obeyed and stared into his brothers big concerned hazel eyes. Out of fucking nowhere, old pain burst out of him and he started to sob. “You died!” Dean yelled, his heart hammering inside his chest, his soul fucking screaming in pain. “Oh jesus, you died… we all died. And now there’s a wall and it’ll break like yours did. And Cas was broken. We’re all fucked up,” Dean babbled, his words stuttered and choppy from the onslaught of hysterics.

“I’m calling an ambulance,” Sam spoke.

Dean shot out his hands and grabbed his brother’s arms. “No, no, don’t do that. We don’t go to hospitals man. Stay with me… you have to protect me right now because I’m unprotected, ya know, because I’m not me. There’s the left brain and the right brain and they’re fighting, and I need to know that if the one side eats the other that you’ll protect me and no hospitals, k. Besides Cas can fix it. Cas always fixes it, remember.”

Sam’s eyes were loaded with fear Dean didn’t comprehend. His mouth was gaping. Sammy, he wanted to say, you look like a fish. Nothing came out, but oh, he was murmuring more. None of the words made sense.

Was alphabet soup supposed to do this? Dean thought about the chemical makeup of drugs. Every detail was just there out of nowhere like he were a fucking chemist. Course it could all be bullshit.

“… getting Cas. Maybe he’ll—“

Bolting off the couch, Dean launched himself at his brother already moving down the hall. “No!” he yelled. “I’ll lose him. If nothing happens, then it’s all okay, but if something breaks I’ll lose him. None of it can break, do you get it, Sam?”

Because he’d tackled Sam from behind, the two of them had ended up crushed against the drywall with Sam holding Dean as still as he could. “Jesus, Dean. I need to fix this. I’ll be right back and everything will be okay. I’m protecting you, remember? You’re not you right now and I’m protecting you, just like you said, okay?”

Frightened out of his mind, Dean could only nod and stand there.

Sam cautioned him with a look, imploring his older brother to remain where he was. Dean watched Sam step back and shuffle towards the door. Sam too looked full of terror. Maybe it was going around. The whole word sick with fear, fighting blackness. Men and women turned into frightened rageful creatures.

Yes, it was going around.

Dean sank to the floor with the wall at his back and drowned in the odd feelings coursing through his body. Some of them were very welcome, causing his dick to twitch for no apparent reason at all. And others made him nauseous.

“Dean.”

When he heard the deep voice, he looked up. Cas was there, distraught and scared like the rest of them, his conflicted blue eyes analyzing Dean. “My savior,” he snorted.

Lowering to the floor, Cas crouched next to him and placed a hand against his cheek. Ohhh, lord in heaven, the contact set off fireworks in Dean’s stomach. He must have moaned because he heard Sam clear his throat uncomfortably. Cas heard it too.

“Sam, I need you to give me a moment with him.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Sam shot back. “We should be bringing him to the hospital but he’s adamant and I think he’d jump out of the car if we tried. Dammit Dean!” Sam huffed angrily and marched to the kitchen.

Cas’ attention shifted back to Dean. “Tell me what you took.”

There were letters, he remembered, but Cas wouldn’t understand anyway so it was futile to stress his synapses on the matter. There were other, far more important, things he needed to talk about.

“The walls are breaking, Cas.”

A pained look flashed through Cas’ ocean blue eyes. “No, that won’t happen. It’s not the same. I need you to talk to me.”

Sam was back and forced a cup to his mouth. “Drink,” he ordered. A flood of water filled his mouth and he swallowed reflexively. More water was urged down his gullet and he thought he might puke. Shoving Sam away he turned to Cas on the floor next to him.

“I’ve got screws loose,” he said soberly, as if he were delivering news to a client that their metal shitbox had bit the dust. Cas nodded and seemed to want him to continue. “I don’t feel right, I don’t feel right at all. Cas… Cas…” Dean knew there was more there. “Fuck, I don’t remember the rest, I’m sorry. Cas, fix it, okay. Something’s off with the set up ya know, I’m losing pieces. There’s me and another me, and I don’t like it. So I need you to fix it ‘cause it hurts, alright. None of it makes any sense and I hate that. I’m not in control, he is… but I’m here. FUCK!” Dean shouted out of nowhere. “I’m not making any sense! Am I dying?” he looked up at his brother. “Is this what dying is like?”

From the side, Cas reached in and cradled his face, pulling it back to face him. Cas’ features were now very close. “No, Dean. You’re not dying. Do you want me to fix it?”

Wetness streaked over his hot cheeks. When had that started up again. It was weird to cry and not feel it. Sam needed to go away, that had to happen first. “Sam, Cas is here so he can protect me now.”

“I’m not fucking going anywhere until you’re past this.” Always so stubborn, Dean thought.

Dean pleaded. Actual on his knees shit. “Please, I’m serious. It’ll be fine, it’s always fine. It always works out, right. Just go across the hall.”

Whether it was his sudden clarity or the fact that he was in blowjob position in front of his goddamned brother, who knew, but Sam frowned in irritation and strode across the hall and closed the door behind him. Dean was tempted to sing, ”Alone at last!” but thought it wouldn’t be received very well.

But Cas was all up in his space again. That was normal in every corner of his mind. Blue eyes searched his green ones for an endless moment. “Dean?”

Another errant sob lurched out of his throat. “Fuck, Cas, put everything back where it should be.”

Every feature of Cas’ beautiful face screamed of despair. Resignation stiffened his frame. “Lie down.” Dean complied, stretching his body over the front hallway, the kitchen to his left and the rooms to the right. His feet faced the front door. “Is it alright for me to touch you?”

When was it not, he thought. “Hmm, do whatever you have to.”

Cas sat back on his heels, taking up the minimal space between Dean and the wall just by the corner that turned towards his bedroom. “Close your eyes for me,” whispered Cas.

Dean let them fall and waited, feeling the hard floor beneath his back. Already, his buzzing thoughts were slowing, the way wind settles in the night. The hem of his shirt moved and a slip of room-temperature air ghosted across his belly. “Chilly,” he mumbled. Cas shushed him kindly. And then, Cas’ hand laid out flat across his stomach.

Every muscle tensed, his brain not liking this turn of events.

Another of Cas’ hands made it’s way to Dean’s left shoulder. It burned for the shortest of seconds, fading from his mind before he could comment. The touch didn’t last, it moved to his chest where it rested between his pecs, cupping the charm that dangled from leather cord. _The glass one_.

“Relax,” soothed Cas, both hands rubbing gently. The drug made the touch feel like his cock was being stroked instead of his torso, he groaned and tried to push his hips towards something. There was a surprised laugh, soft and familiar. “Relax, Dean,” Cas whispered again, deep voice all throaty and hot.

The lower of Cas’ hands began to move his palm in a circle, sweeping and continuous touch warming his belly. He relaxed and Cas shifted higher, the circles narrowing, pressure increasing…

When the touch had started, the heat was minimal; barely noticeable. But it grew the harder Cas pushed. Not just from the centre of his chest, but everywhere inside of him. Cas’ firm hands on his skin felt insanely good, the touch straying outside the parameters of what he believed physics allowed.

Dean felt the drug being burned out of him, he felt the blocks of his mind stacking back up into their appropriate places. Memories of the life of Dean Campbell lining up like good little ducks. It made sense. Every facet of his being made sense. It was such a relief.

The heat radiating from his bones became uncomfortable but he when he opened his mouth to complain, a thick aroused groan burst out instead.

Some internal circuit breaker for his whole body must have tripped up because out of nowhere an orgasm ripped out of him in the weirdest, most abrupt sensation. It felt like his whole body had screamed of bliss for one sweeping nanosecond of time.

The world went black.

...

It could’ve been an entire light-year before he finally opened his eyes. But judging by Sam’s face and Cas’ same clothes, it was—he assumed—still the same day.

“You okay?” asked Sam, looking all manner of pissed.

“What happened?”

Cas stood up and shot Dean a guarded look without Sam seeing. The expression didn’t exactly change but Dean knew to not say anything about whatever he wasn’t sure had or hadn’t happened before he’d passed out.

“You took some bad drugs and I managed to relax you enough that you fell asleep. You’ve been out for a few hours now. I think the drug has worn off. I’m not sure what it was, but it certainly did a number on your head. Don’t _ever_ take that again.” Cas spoke the last words with a warning. One that made Dean tremble slightly.

Sam settled one of his uncompromising looks on Dean. “You’re seeing a doctor tomorrow.” There was no debate on that one.

“I’m sure it was just the drugs,” Dean argued pathetically, “but I’ll go. I promise. Cross my heart and everything.”

“Oh you don’t need to promise me anything, I’m going with you.”

“Dude!”

“Don’t dude me. You were writhing and saying one half of your brain was eating the other!”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Well, that’s what people on drugs always say!” He couldn’t have been totally wrong on that one either. Surely, another doped up idiot had rambled about that BS too. Part of what he’d taken certainly had a hallucinogenic worked in there. Potent as fuck, too.

It took another forty minutes for Dean to get Sam out the door. When he was gone, Dean tried not to think about he remembered before everything went black. It was almost daylight, and all he could think about was Cas’ hands on him.

Most of the drug trip was a vague nightmare in his mind, but Cas touching him was clearer than any of his past memories. The moment was burned and etched onto his soul and even if he got Alzheimer's one day, he’d remember.

It wasn’t a simple touch. It was way past that. But he felt a headache when he thought to ask. So, in an attempt to curve the nag of curiosity, he bee-lined for Cas standing by the kitchen and attacked him with a kiss.

Cas should’ve been a work, but he called in and climbed into bed with Dean. They fell asleep together and he vowed to never take drugs again.

Except for weed, because that was totally allowed.


	13. Chapter 13

“A shadow?” Sam’s voice. It was distant, coming to him from miles away.

Another voice said some words. Clinical and detailed, too complicated to figure out. “You see, right over the frontal lobe you’ll notice a distinct darker area, only a few millimeters. After additional scans and further assessment, it was determined not to be a malfunction of the machine. It indicated there’s some kind of damage, or potential congenital brain abnormality, though I’m reluctant to make that determination yet. I need to run additional blood work and—

Dean stood up and despite the sharp voices calling him back, he walked down the wide, brightly lit hallway and turned at the first opportunity. More walking and not thinking about dark spots on his brain. Sam was probably following him, but the hospital was a maze and after multiple turns and going down stairs, he was sure he’d lost his tail.

He went numb after that, and must have walked the whole way home. Or maybe he got a cab? Perhaps he’d even gotten on the bus. There was a memory of a bad smell. Buses always smelled rank.

The last clear memory was the doctor frowning at him. Why had he done that? What a cruel, stupid thing to do before telling someone there’s a potential lesion on their brain. Brain damage was a real shitty, unheroic way to die.

Now he was staring at Cas’ door. He held up his hand to knock but the door whipped open, “I’d thank God, but I don’t think he’s on my side,” Cas muttered with a roll of his eyes and grabbed Dean by the arm and pulled him inside. “Sam called and he was worried. You shouldn’t have left.”

“What else was there to do,” replied Dean.

“Come on, Dean, come with me,” Cas led him down the hall to the bedroom. He stood still as Cas undressed him. Clearly, they weren’t about to engage in sexy times, but Cas’ motives were blurred to him.

When he was naked, Cas took his hand and pulled him to the bathroom. Dean wondered why Cas hadn’t simply undressed him in there. But then he recalled how cramped the space was and realized that would have made Cas’ efforts a bit more of a struggle. Dean wasn’t really helping this whole enterprise.

Rushing water burst into his awareness, sounded so fucking loud that he groaned and let his head flop. It landed on a hard shoulder. Cas was holding him, and it would’ve been a hell of a lot nicer if Cas was stripped bare too. All of his clothes were rough on Dean’s skin, all these knits and wools and itchy fabric.

Hands brushed across his skin and they were smooth, soft and comforting. Dean was startled into action when Cas pushed him towards the tub and told him to get in.

Really? he thought. “Cas, men don’t take baths,” he complained.

“Be quiet. Relax… everything is fine.”

Whatever. Dean laid back into the hot water and felt his muscles twitch and soften. Fuckin' hell, it was nice. His eyes started to droop, but he wanted Cas in there with him.

“Get in here,” he slurred.

“I’m fine, Dean.”

His eyes flicked open. “Cas don’t be like that. You can’t leave me in a bath naked and upset. It’s like a really bad day-time movie.”

With a relieved laugh, Cas began removing his layers. At last, his naked, athletic frame stepped in between Dean’s legs and sat down, his back to Dean’s front as was their usual position it seemed. Huh, they had a position for cuddling—that was wonderfully domestic.

The water splashed a bit over the sides. “Landlord’s gonna be pissed if we cause a leak downstairs.”

“The man is an idiot. I doubt he’ll notice.”

Dean agreed with that assessment. “True.”

Comfort settled his fears and the whole horrible experience at the doctor’s office seemed less earth-crushing than it had initially. He wanted to repay Cas for being so nice to him. Here they were in this new relationship and Dean was riddled with problem after problem, and still, Cas stuck by him and did all he could to help.

Nudging Cas forward, Dean began to massage his back. His efforts drifted to the inside curves of Cas’ shoulder blades, shaping and mapping out the dip towards the muscle. It was hard under his fingers, with knots that demanded his touch.

Satisfied murmurs purred from Cas’ mouth and Dean worked harder, knowing this was where Cas held his tension.

“Do you miss them,” he asked, his gaze glued to Cas’ bared skin.

“Dean? Miss what…” There was alarm lacing Cas’ tone.

“The wings.” Silence greeted Dean’s comment. He kept rubbing, his mind strangely empty. “I miss you, Cas.”

A sharp inhale brought Dean’s head up, pulled from a trance. He looked at Cas’ profile turned partway to stare back. Why was Cas looking at him that way?

“Dean… what did you just say?”

Fishing back a few moments, he couldn’t find anything of a conversation save for the one when Cas had first gotten in. “Nothing,” he answered.

“Nothing,” Cas repeated. “Yes, um, okay… never mind.”

“I’m sorry I showed up here all… dramatic and everything,” he said, glad to be feeling way more with it now.

“Don’t apologize. I’m always hoping you show up out of the blue, though preferably wearing a smile than worry.”

Dean grinned. “Yeah me too.” Leaning over, he kissed the middle of Cas’ spine and roped his arms around Cas in an impulsive hug. “Honestly… this whole thing,” he said into Cas’ ear, “scares the crap out of me. I’m having some serious feelings over here, and I think it kinda messes me up when I think about you maybe leaving one day.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

It didn’t set the future, but it made him feel better. “Good, because… ya know… we’ve been dating or whatever for a while, sort of, and I’ve been wanting to, uh, maybe take things further. Not like right here right now or anything, but in some sort of immediate future or, ya know, whatever you want.”

Holy crap, he was shit with words.

But he supposed it had the intended effect. Cas turned around in a sudden move, water splashing everywhere and started making out with Dean in a flurry of sudden passion. He was very quickly on board with this plan of action.

When they finally stopped only because the water had cooled, he held Cas’ face in his hands and asked an important question, “You know, in your text a while back you sort of hinted that you wanted to, uh, take the reins if you know what I mean, but I want to ask if that’s actually your preference.”

For a thoughtful moment, Cas stared back. He broke the silence with, “Dean, I want to be with you however you want when you’re ready. That’s what I want more than anything—to make you feel amazing.”

Well, he wasn’t surprised. Dean exhaled in a rush. “No, Cas. I’m serious, don’t think about me or my pleasure, tell me the position that you think about it when you’re trying to sleep and you reach down and touch yourself.”

Cas looked away nervously, embarrassed by Dean guessing what he did when he was alone. What man didn’t occasionally do that? It wasn’t a shot in the dark.

“It’s just a misplaced fantasy, a result of… past disappointments that have nothing to do with you.”

A sliver of pain nicked at his heart, and he wanted to give Cas whatever fantasies he dreamed of. ”Say it.”

“I think about you…” Cas averted his eyes, “making love to me.”

Dean rose to his feet and dragged Cas with him, letting the thought of being with Cas dominate every corner of his mind. None of the words he wanted to say would justify how grateful and appreciative he was to have Cas. _Castiel._

_Castiel. Angel…_

Confused and also clear-headed, Dean threw a dry towel around Cas’ shoulders, remembering a blanket settling into place. Closing the gap between them, skin wet, Dean stole a kiss and cherished how Cas’ lips molded to his.

Resting his forehead on Cas’, hair dripping down his face, Dean lost himself in Cas’ eyes. The pattern of blues were remarkable, exquisitely beautiful. Between them, he felt Cas’ heart beating, accelerating the same as his breaths.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Cas said quietly.

Dean nodded and fell towards Cas’ mouth, plying soft lips apart to slip his tongue in. Cas moaned into the kiss and before he knew it, they were heading back to Cas’ room. It was an altogether bad sign for the state of his finances. Because the Hulk himself wouldn’t be able to drag Dean from this apartment and that meant he was gonna be skipping out a bar shift tonight.

He wasn’t the only one shirking responsibilities. When they collapsed to the bed in a tangled heap of arms and legs, Cas muttered something about being at work in an hour. But, as it happened, when the hour mark rolled around Cas wasn’t on his way to work. On the way to an orgasm though? Definitely.

Sitting face-to-face, Cas straddled Dean’ thighs and lined up their cocks. Rocking his hips back and forth, he worked them over together in heedless determination. Seeing Cas lose his calm was always a massive turn-on for Dean, loving how he narrowed his eyes in frustration and glanced down to stare at how their sex funneled together inside the circle of Cas’ fist.

They came in tandem, tremors overlapping as their hands mingled in the combined effort. Come had shot up and landed everywhere in the near vicinity. The bed was a mess and so were they.

Cas started to laugh; joyous, elated laughter that made his chest shake. Dean watched him fall back to the bed with a long sigh. Laying out over the end of the bed, legs spread haphazardly, Dean was given an eyeful of Cas’ balls… and the crease between his cheeks.

Temptation, from the view and stemming from what Cas had said before, swelled inside him and Dean glanced to see the want reflected in the stirring of his cock.

Jesus Christ, he thought, they’d finished less than five minutes ago. The time for that wasn’t now, and truth be told Dean wasn’t confident he could get it all the way up anyway. It’d been a long ass day and whenever he and Cas took the next step he wanted it to be… _special._ Man, he loathed that damn word. It gave unnecessary fluff to something that ran deep for him.

Of course, not going all the way this very second didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy what was on display before him.

“Mmm, likin’ the view.”

With an aroused hum, Dean sat up and went in to bury his face into Cas’ groin, not with any real intentions, but because he had to and no other reason. Kissing the sweaty, come-scented skin, Dean was favored with soft gratified moans coming from above.

He heard his name in a whisper and responded by indulging Cas with some tongue action. Dean was messy about his efforts, he wasn’t taking this anywhere. If he had to define his current ministrations, it was more of a cuddling of Cas’ junk with his mouth. If that made any world of sense to anyone other than Dean.

But he continued to lap and kiss and listen to Cas’ little moans. After a few minutes, a pang of hunger broke his concentration. Realizing that they couldn’t stay in bed forever, he started to creep up Cas’ splayed naked body and kiss patterns on the way up.

By the time he reached Cas’ lax features, he was grinning and thinking about food.

“You smell like… sex,” Cas mumbled, eyes closed.

Dean felt his smile stretch. “Yup.”

“Are we napping now?”

“No, we’re gonna eat,” he said. Then, Dean voiced what he needed from Cas, “And you’re gonna tell me again that everything is okay and that I shouldn’t worry about… weird dark spots on my brain.” It was what people in relationships did, didn’t they? Be vulnerable and all that garbage.

The tired façade dropped from Cas’ face and his eyes opened. “Everything is and will be fine, Dean. I would never let anything happen to you. And trust me, there’s nothing physically wrong with your brain.”

Dean snorted. “I seriously beg to differ.” God, where to start? Headaches, seizures, errant displaced thoughts, odd images springing to mind out of nowhere, trances that rob him of time, oh and… dark spots on the brain.

“Dean,” said Cas firmly, blue eyes boring into his. “I’m watching over you. More closely than I anticipated, but nevertheless, I’m here and I will always do everything in my power to keep you safe. No matter the threat.”

“More closely than you anticipated?” Dean squinted down. “So… does this mean you’d originally planned on stalking me from afar? You are an ax-murderer, aren’t you.” He was joking, but Cas’ words were definitely cryptic, same as most of the time.

Dammit, that should seriously bug him more than it did.

“No,” Cas smiled. “I mean, being your friend and neighbor, I still would have watched out for you. Though, I do prefer this…”

Smirking, Dean shot back, “Well, of course you prefer this—I just had my head buried between your legs!”

They both laughed and Cas shrugged. “Yes, that’s definitely a perk.”

At that point, Dean’s stomach let out a grumble not to be ignored. It was slow going, but they emerged out of the bedroom in boxers and t-shirts stolen from Cas’ minimal clothing pile. They cooked together in the kitchen and spend the remainder of the day enjoying the other’s company.

Dean was still low-key worried; how could he not be? But with Cas around, everything sort of slid to the background, a murmur of unrest he could ignore.

He continued to think about sex, about taking Cas’ virginity in that way. Nervousness was a serious factor, but it went farther than that. Two parts of him warred with crossing that line. On the one hand, it would validate something tenuous and make it real. But on the other, he knew it would break down the balance of his vulnerabilities. There’d be no recovering unscathed if bad shit happened after that.

Fuck, who knew. Maybe he was already fucked. In the emotional sense, at least.


	14. Chapter 14

Days went by and things only got better. Despite Cas’ insinuation that Dean was not dying and there was nothing at all wrong with his brain, he did go back to the doctor. Even apologized for hightailing it outta there. The doc said he understood and that, not too shockingly, it wasn’t the first time someone had done that.

They talked about more tests, about past injuries he could remember. When he was curiously vacant on major parts of his life, the doctor’s brows pinched together and he scribbled some shit down. Dean hadn’t liked that at all. He always figured past memories were meant to be fuzzy. Now he was fearing there was a definite reason for his grimy glass pane viewing window.

Thing was, Dean had a nagging suspicion it wasn’t medical related. There was too much detail, too much context in his occasional hallucinations. Naturally, he did _not_ tell the doc about those. Talk about a one-way ticket to the looney bin. Yeah, bad idea mentioning he often had violent waking dreams and thought about weapons on a nearly daily basis.

And then there was Cas, in all his mystery, appearing one day and becoming very quickly someone Dean abhorred the idea of being separated from. Part of that was because even with all the shit going on, Cas made him laugh. Sometimes simply by doing something ridiculously weird. And Cas got along so well with Sam, the only other person in the world that Dean loved with all his heart.

Dean was finding himself looking forward to every kiss and accidental touch. He enjoyed work more even. It was like Nicholas Sparks was suddenly calling the shots on his life. Not that he was complaining, that dude rocked the romance genre. Something that Dean would never in all his life admit to out loud.

All of his lovesick revelation-type thoughts must’ve been showing on his face. Cas glanced up from the newspaper in his hands and squinted at Dean with notable intensity. “You’re grinning. Why?”

Scanning the pizza joint they were in, as they waited for their order, Dean said, “Can’t a man smile for no reason anymore? Geez. What’s the world coming to.”

Rolling his eyes, Cas folded the paper and leaned closer. “Were you thinking about sexual activities again? You do that alarmingly often.”

Dean snorted. Okay, so the whole holding off on sex because he was nervous and all that jazz was making Dean hella horny. And the worst part, it’s not like they hadn’t been finding time to fool around every damn day anyway! One or two orgasms every twenty-four hours, you’d think he’d be more than satiated.

But no. Because Dean was a porno-loving, Cas-loving, sex-loving bastard. How was he supposed to make love to Cas when he was worried he’d lose control and turn into some mindless, thrusting, pleasure-seeking drone of a man.

“If you _must_ know,” he replied. “I was thinking about an author I like.”

“Who?”

Dammit! “It’s not important,” he waved off the comment. “Besides, maybe you were the one thinking about sex.”

Cas flicked his eyes to the folded paper on the counter. “I was reading about a murder.”

“Oh.” Dean frowned. And then he was curious and started to pester Cas about the details of the murder, finding himself suddenly invested in the potential reasons one might take a life.

His mysterious blue-eyed hottie clearly found that annoying because the second their pizza order was called out, Cas garbaged the paper on the way up and started talking about how good the pizza would be, and what dipping sauce Dean wanted to grab.

Verbal food porn proved to be an excellent distraction and he quickly forgot about the woes of others in black and white. Not his problem. He had a whole slew of his own and a man that would require some sexing up later.

As they were walking back to the apartment building, Dean remembered his conversation with Sammy that morning when he’d been taking the bus to work.

“Oh, almost forgot. Sam’s wedding anniversary is coming up this weekend. I’m not always a stellar brother but I think it’d be nice to throw them a little party or whatever. Just us, food, games? I know it sounds lame, but we’re not really swimming in family members and Sammy loves all that crap. He’s been bugging me to play this Settlers of Catan game for nearly a year. Anyway, you in?”

Throwing Dean a smile, Cas quickly said, “Yes. Absolutely. I love games!”

Dean shook his head. Not at all a surprised. “Man, who’d have thought.”

“Are you making fun of me?”

Switching the pizza to his left hand, Dean flung his right around Cas’ shoulders and kissed his cheek. “Never. You gorgeous cardigan-wearing, minivan-driving, game-loving dork.”

Cas threw him a scowl and Dean fought off a smile. Ruffling Cas’ feathers amused him quite a bit.

…

When the weekend rolled around, Dean knew that the anniversary party would be all kinds of foreplay for him and Cas. The last two days when they’d fooled around, things had gotten seriously hot. To the point where they would shift and reposition until one of their erections was prodding at certain places in the most glorious, endless tease on the planet.

Waiting had turned it into this beast of a thing, all mixed up with emotions and this animalistic desperation. God, finally having full on sex with Cas was gonna be a damn firework show. Cue up the music, and food breaks and put some water by the bed, because things were gonna get wild. But only in a passionate love-making kind of way.

At least that had been his plan.

Using his key, Dean unlocked Sam’s place and stepped into the two-storey home. It was the picture of domesticity. This was Sam’s ideal life and Dean was happy that his kid brother had lucked out. Ree was nice enough, Dean didn’t remember much of her and Sam’s initial relationship, but that was one of those things about his past that were notably vague.

“I still don’t understand how Sam is married,” Cas said strangely, eyes stuck on a picture of the two in the hallway. “It doesn’t make sense…” he added distantly, the words not at all meant for Dean.

“Um, why exactly doesn’t it make sense?” he asked.

Cas stood up straight and looked at Dean as if he’d been caught in a lie. “Uhm,” Cas narrowed his eyes, “well, he’s very young.”

“Sure. Whatever.” Just another weird comment of Cas’ to file in a box and shove under the proverbial rug in his brain. “Come on, help me with the food.”

They crossed the length of the house into the kitchen that faced the small yard and unpacked the few things they’d brought. Steaks, a salad (it was Sam’s party after all), and the necessary items for baked potatoes. A hearty dinner, to be followed up with casual drinks and downright merriment. Not too bad of a night, actually.

Needing to trim the steaks of unnecessary gristle, Dean perused the counters and drawers for a sharp knife. In one of the long drawers in the island, Dean definitely found a sharp knife. Kind of overkill for steak trimming, though. It definitely looked to be more of a hunting knife, and Dean wondered if it was Dad’s. How long had Sam had it and why didn’t Dean know about it?

Staring at the markings on the blade, Dean was startled by Cas’ hand on his shoulder. “Is everything okay?”

Dean nodded absently and picked up the weapon. That’s absolutely what it was, without question. Calling it a cooking utensil would be like calling a chainsaw a weed whacker.

“Huh.” Dean turned over, staring at the shape. “Wicked blade.”

Cas hovered nearby, tension radiating from him. “Let’s get everything ready,” he told Dean, reaching out and carefully taking the knife from Dean’s hands and placing it on the counter.

“Yeah, sure.”

Grabbing another knife from the same drawer, a far more normal-looking one, Dean methodically sliced off the white edges of the meat while Cas oiled, salted and foiled potatoes. It was nice cooking beside Cas, pausing for a kiss here and there, or taking a moment to lean back on the counter and simply stare at Cas’ backside with blatant appreciation.

Who could blame him? Cas was wearing the white button-up. The one shirt Dean actually liked on him, and a pair of deep blue dress pants that were a bit looser than Dean would’ve preferred. It hadn’t mattered that Dean told him this was going to be casual, Cas insisted on looking nice.

And he did look nice. Biting his lip, Dean stepped up behind him and firmly grabbed his hips. In a beat, he was leaning into the crook of Cas’ neck and sucking just above the collar. Trapped against the counter, Cas squirmed and flexed in place.

“We’re cooking… they’ll be home in an hour,” cautioned Cas.

Dean groaned and ignored the warning, thoughts set on feeling Cas up a little bit. It might be his last chance before they’d get home. Sliding his right hand around to the front, Dean pressed his palm into Cas’ lower belly, forcing his ass back and sighing in relief from the added pressure on his growing erection.

Needing to take it a smidge further, Dean tucked his fingers into Cas’ waistband and sunk his hand into those dark blue dress pants and palmed the growing swell of Cas’ dick.

Feeling it expanding fast, Dean smiled with pride. “But Cas, we’re supposed to be cooking,” he teased, as he fondled.

Watching Cas’ profile, he caught the feigned irritation. “Don’t be a—“

His hand shot up to cover Cas’ mouth, muffling any sound. “ _Ssh_.” Someone was in the house. 

Listening to the subtle creaks and hums, he focused on any sounds that didn’t fit. It came once more, a faint swoosh of fabric; someone walking.

Dean stepped back and turned towards the hallway, his fist tight around something. There were footsteps moving closer. In a soft whisper against his ear, he heard Cas trying to get his attention but Dean was pumped full of adrenaline, his heart racing as he waited for the intruders approach.

Sam would’ve called out when he got home. This was _not_ Sam.

Coming around the corner, a man skulked into the kitchen, eyes flashing around before they landed on Dean and Cas behind him.

“Where is it?” the guy demanded, eyes cold as ice.

“What are you and what do you want?” asked Cas, voice calm on the surface. But Dean knew him well, he heard the undertone of worry.

“There’s power here,” the gruff man stated, eyes darting around once more. “Give it to me!” On the last word, Dean would’ve sworn his eyes had gone dark, but it happened so fast he couldn’t be sure.

His knuckles were sore and he spared a fleeting second to figure out why. Looking down his arm, Dean saw his fist gripped around the knife from earlier. The one that Cas had left on the counter. It felt damn good in his hand. An unparalleled anger flooded him in waves of instant hate.

Cas tried to step in front of Dean, “What power?” he asked in confusion, maintaining that odd stoicism.

Dean could only seethe, battling against his desire to lunge forward and make use of the knife.

The dickbag staring at them opened his mouth to say something when he noticed something on Dean, his eyes narrowing with sudden concentration. “What little trinket are you carrying around with you?” he asked in slimy tone that made Dean’s skin crawl.

Behind him, Cas swore and he wasn’t sure why. It was okay though, Dean knew what he had to do. There was no way in hell someone was taking anything from him.

“You picked the wrong fucking house, asswipe.” Dean said each word as he marched forward. He saw the look of surprise a heartbeat before the knife drove through flesh and bottomed out at the hilt. There was a flash of black and lightning beneath the man’s skin, like a fire burning out from inside.

Steadily, Dean extracted the knife and watched as the body fell in a clunk to the floor. Blood began to expand across the tiles. Drips of it slid from the knife and splatted to the floor, each thud of liquid thundered in his ears.

Dead. Not coming back.

Staring in a fucked up fixation, Dean realized he killed a man. One that hadn’t threatened them with anything more than his voice, and even then…

“I…” Dean couldn’t speak the words.

A warm body moved in behind him, a hand on his shoulder. His name was there in the whirl of sound in his ears. But it was mashed in with everything else, nothing louder than the voice screaming inside his head, _I’m a murderer._

Dean was suddenly forced around. Staring him in the face was Cas, always there when things took a bad turn. “Dean!” Cas barked at him. “Focus. That thing was evil—do you hear me? _Evil_. You did nothing wrong.”

All he did was rest his eyes on Cas’, maybe because he liked the view, maybe because that was what faced him.

“Dean!”

I’m here, he wanted to say. I hear ya. But none of the words made it further than a thought. Cas rubbed the back of his neck, and reached for his phone. Did Cas have friends?

Someone must’ve answered because Cas was speaking in low, hushed sounds and Dean only caught bits and pieces. “…maybe random … … I don’t know … … take care of it, please.”

When his phone was once more in his pocket, he approach Dean. Slowly, as if he were something to be spooked easily. Was he?

“Let’s go home.”

Dean pictured home. He saw the fiery house in Kansas. He saw leather seats. He saw concrete walls. And then, lastly, the one-bedroom apartment. Something warm was in his hand, his gaze flashed down expecting blood but seeing Cas’ firm grasp instead.

They were moving. Leaving the kitchen behind with all the food still out on the counters. The meat will rot, he wanted to say. Cas guided him down the hall, pulling him along like a child. He should’ve scoffed and pulled his hand away. _I know how to walk, Cas!_ he wanted to yell.

None of that happened. Time jumped and he remembered nothing of leaving the house, or moving across the front lawn, or getting in the minivan. He was suddenly looking at the street signs and lights passing by as they came up to the turn for their building.

He skipped ahead again, and they were walking down the hall, moving towards his door. The keys were in his pocket but he didn’t reach for them. Cas stuck his hand awkwardly into Dean’s pants and extracted the ring of few keys.

Awareness popped in again when he felt warm water flowing over his hands and hard scrapes on his fingers. They were in the kitchen and Cas was scraping the dried flecks of blood from the back of his hand.

Back-splatter from the plunge of the knife, he thought. Why he knew that, he wasn’t sure.

Shifting his head to the side, he saw Cas’ worried face all scrunched up, eyes focused on his task. Dean had taken someone’s life, felt curiously unemotional about it, and what was Cas doing? Everything possible to make it better for him. Calling whoever to do whatever needed to be done. Making sure Dean was home and safe, cleaning his hands.

Why would someone you hardly knew do that?

He searched Cas’ features, memorized the straight line of his nose, the exact shade of his hair, the length of his eyelashes.

“You’re in love with me,” Dean stated, knowing the truth of it.

Cas stilled.

It took a moment for him to come around but he looked at Dean, both of them huddled together over the sink, bending underneath the pendant light that had broken months ago and dangled by its wires too low.

Conflicted with emotion, Cas didn’t seem able to answer, he just nodded and looked unsure about what to do next.

Dean moved on him so fast it shocked them both. His hands got a grab on what they could, anything to bring Cas closer, _faster…_ He violently crashed against Cas’ mouth, taking advantage of a gasp to spear his tongue in between lips and teeth. The kiss was frantic and rough, full of muffled whimpers and laboured breathing that sounded harsh in the small kitchen. They both tried to get a better hold on each other, which scrambled them into a mess of arms and uncoordinated efforts.

Aggravated, Dean shoved Cas against the cabinets and kissed him hard and deep, hips grinding with the strength of his sudden need. A deep, throaty sound ripped through the space and Dean was forced towards the stove, and then slammed into by Cas himself, lips greeting his in raw kiss.

The stove-handle dug into the meat of his ass and if he could only prop himself up higher, he could use the fucking thing as leverage.

Yeah, that was the plan. Dean hiked his leg up around Cas’ hips and rejoiced when Cas picked up on the move and instantly grabbed under his thigh to keep him steady. How fucking sweet, and _badly_ needed because in the next move, Cas was slamming into him hard enough to bring his other foot off the floor, his ass barely catching on the ledge of the rickety metal bar.

The back of his head smacked against the overhead fan, and the pained groan was replaced by one of ecstasy when Cas surged against him—

_Thunk!_

Dean dropped a half a foot when the handle broke off, but Cas stopped his fall in a snap by pressing into him hard, trapping him against the stove, nearly bending Dean into the narrow-enough gap between the fan and the burners.

Christ, if they weren’t careful his ass might flick on the dial and knowing his own idiocy, he’d probably wind up burning the building down.

Trying to push back from the damn uncomfortable appliance, he unlatched his fingers from their grip on the counter edge and latched on to Cas’ body. Or more accurately: Two hands firmly on Cas’ ass and grabbing hard.

Every hard flex of the muscle seduced him further.

Cas drew back from the kiss, panting hard, and grated out his name. “ _Dean.”_ The dark look Cas was throwing his way either meant they were gonna fuck, or someone was getting hurt. Maybe a little of both actually.

It wasn’t supposed to go down this way. Dean searched Cas’ resolve. “Right now…” he took a breath, embarrassingly low on oxygen, “what do you want, Cas?”

Pushed back again, Dean lost a moment with eyes falling shut only to open them as he felt Cas’ hand cup his junk through his jeans and then slide back and rub at the thick seam of his jeans. “I want to unravel you... I want _you_ … I want _all_ of you… “ Cas’ voice hitched at the end. Dean might’ve paid more attention and asked but he was distracted by the rubbing action below.

Eyes locked on Cas’, Dean managed to squeak out, “I’m yours.”

For a moment, Cas looked sad but it didn’t last. If Dean had it his way, Cas would never look sad ever again. Dean took control and hugged around Cas’ waist to hoist him up, lifting him straight off the floor. Curling around him instinctively, Cas held on and lowered his face until they were kissing again.

It was a softer kiss from before, but only marginally. There was less accidental biting this time around. Dean marched them down the hall, bumping into every conceivable corner and wall along the way. Only aware of the impediment when gruff bursts of air were knocked out of Cas from his back slamming into drywall.  

When he somehow got to his room, he unceremoniously threw Cas on the unmade bed and started yanking at the bottom of his dress pants. Cas fumbled to undo the belt, button, and zipper, but when he was done, he canted his hips and Dean deftly tore them off.

Since Cas’ boxer-briefs wound up dragged down to his thighs, Dean went the rest of the way and pulled them off.

Tonight was definitely not going to be slow or sweet. Nicholas Sparks wasn’t writing this scene, that was for damn sure.

Scouring Cas’ bared skin, he noticed Cas had stripped off his shirt at some point. He kneeled between Cas’ legs and pulled at his own clothes, hearing a tear somewhere along the way and not giving a single shit. An excuse for him and Cas to go shopping at a real clothes store together like the awesome-tastic couple they were.

Naked and running high on adrenaline, Dean laid out over Cas and started to taste his mouth and drive his hips down so their cocks would rub together.

“Uhhn…” Cas’ thick voice rumbled out, and his hands latched onto Dean’s shoulders. A few more necessary thrusts to relieve the initial flare of tension and Dean was ready to move on to bigger and better things.

Not wasting time, he practically threw himself across the bed to get to the nightstand, yanked open the drawer with a bang as the stoppers kept the thing from flying out onto the floor. Dean grabbed what he needed and started to scoot back only to feel Cas grab his ankle and try to flip him over.

They shuffled around until Dean was on his back in the middle of the bed, all the blankets shoved to the floor. Cas hooked his hands under Dean’s knees and spread his legs wide. Before he could take a breath or catch up, Cas’ mouth was sucking him off and a miraculously wet finger was pushing inside him.

“Ahhh, fuck— _Cas,”_ Dean cried out. The warm suction of Cas’ mouth made him squirm on the bed. And that was before Cas started to finger him hard, plunging in and out with two fingers now.

“Stop,” he pleaded, his voice breathless. “Oh my god, stop or I’m gonna come.”

But Cas kept going, even as Dean whimpered about wanting to be fucked and that he wasn’t ready to call it a night so fast.

Distantly, he heard Cas opening the bottle of lube and barely any pause before he felt added wetness worked into him alongside Cas’ fingers. The change from a bit rough and a slight burn to a slippery easing in and out dragged obscene moans from him.

When Cas added a third finger, stretching infinitesimally more, but kept up the jarring pace and changed up the blow job with a gentle scrape of teeth, Dean lasted only another few seconds before he was shouting and spilling himself into Cas’ mouth, feeling the pressure as all of his release was swallowed.

“Holy fuck, holy fuck.” He was shaking and shuddering on the bed, and wasn’t quite ready for what came next.

Cas sprawled on top of him and gripped one hand under Dean’s knee and pushed his leg back to make room. Their eyes met and Dean felt splayed raw for the taking. “Please, Cas,” he said, suddenly realizing he was crying. “I need you.”

“ _Ssh,_ ” Cas kissed his lips.

Dean dimly heard the tear of a condom. He felt movement between his legs, and pleaded in his impatience. “Cas...”

Poised above him, Cas’ expression screamed of conflict. Not exactly what a man wants to see in that moment. “What is it,” he asked, feeling a streak of wetness run over his temple. If he ignored it, it wasn’t happening.

“I—“ Cas pressed his lips together and closed his eyes. “I thought I lost you… I thought…”

“I’m here.” Now goddamn get inside me, he wanted to shout.

Dean lured Cas into action with a simple look, having to open his mouth to breathe as he felt the fat slick head of Cas’ cock press against Dean’s entrance. It was hot and wet, and Dean made a soft noise when he felt his body relax and let Cas in.

There was a lot of touching that accompanied the drawn out initial penetration of Cas taking him. A hand framing his face, or Cas’ fingers running through his hair, or knuckles tickling down his sides.

“I’m so sorry,” Cas was saying, and he sounded just as emotional as Dean was. “Please don’t hate me for this.”

What the fuck nonsense was Cas yammering about? Dean had minimal brain capacity to do much, but he wrapped an arm around Cas’ neck and yanked him down so their lips were grazing, but he spoke, “If you’re gonna be sorry for anything, be sorry for not doing this sooner. Be sorry for not loving me when we met. Now fucking make love to me like you’re supposed to dammit because I’m shaking with some ridiculous alien need here, and I need you, okay? _I just_ _fucking…_ _need…_ _you_.” Every word at the end, he emphasized with a salacious clench of his ass around Cas’ cock.

Cas attacked his face with anxious kisses and withdrew his hips. When he thrust back in, it was slow and almost annoying. Dean whined and attacked Cas’ jaw with his teeth because it was close.

The next time Cas claimed him it was rougher and hard enough that Dean felt his lip tremble. It continued with the same jarring attack that left him wrecked. His pitiful attempt at kissing Cas was interrupted by his needy ramblings.

“Don’t leave me again,” he was saying. “I need you, Cas. Just stay with me, just stay with me.”

Cas was less articulate, but he grunted with the force of his thrusts and murmured broken I love you’s against Dean’s cheek.

The bed creaked over the hardwood and Dean started to reach an intensity that baffled him. He wanted to rip his own hair out and bite Cas simultaneously. For no reason other than the sex was making crazy.

Every impalement of Cas’ cock filled him good and hard. Dean had never been fucked like this in his whole scrambled life.

Their hands found each other and fingers linked together, gripping so tight his knuckles screamed in protest, but he’d sooner tear his own hand off than let go.

If it was possible to be fucked emotionally, that’s absolutely what was going down. Dean was all for it, eating it up and spurring Cas on. Words and curses accompanied the loud struggle for air they were both having. It didn’t help that having Cas— _a grown man_ —pressing down on him, made it a damn workout just to expand his lungs.

Both of them were coated in sweat, making every slap of their bodies obscene and sharp in the room. Even though it all seemed muffled, he heard each sound in distinction. Even, very faintly, the whispery slips of Cas’ condom-covered erection sliding in and out of his ass.

“ _Holy fuck_ ,” Dean cursed, hanging on around Cas’ neck as he was jarred on the mattress. “Oh god, feels…” _Hmmph._ Dean was cut off by a kiss. Cas’ tongue swept into Dean’s mouth, amatory groans vibrating between them. The kiss was the same as everything else: Hard and fast and desperate.

When Cas pulled back, Dean unclenched his fingers from Cas’ hold and grabbed his face instead, locking their gaze together. He let everything fall apart inside of him. All the fear about loving Cas, and all the worry about who he was. None of it mattered as long as Cas was in his life, in him, in love with him. Everything.

Cas stared back with something near fury. A kind of fury that had bliss all wrapped around it. His body rocked over Dean, rutting into him in a hurried momentum that was making Dean see stars in the depth of the dark blue eyes above him.

“I missed you,” Cas panted, “so much.”

“Oh fuck, _Cas_ …” Dean lost his voice from a sudden rush of pleasure. He swallowed and said, “Harder _…_ ” On his next breath, Cas slammed into him so good his teeth knocked. “Holy shit... _again!_ ”

Dean’s heart fluttered in fast, heavy beats. His chest ached to expand for air, but he denied it. Trading sufficient oxygen for everything else. As the ecstasy started to spike, and his cock throbbed, he suddenly needed a hand down there.

“Please… fucking touch me.”

“ _Uhh…_ _Dean_ —” A warm fist wrapped around his swollen dick and Dean almost shouted from how good it felt.

“ _Ahhh,_ Christ, I’m gonna finish,” he warned, his whole body straining under the onslaught of sensation. His rim stretched out, his ass being repeatedly filled by someone he loved, heat fucking everywhere, and wetness. Ohhh, yes… and an unsteady grip squeezing him closer and closer towards release.

“Let go Dean…”

“Cas…” he groaned, his skin feverish, nerves itching for relief. Arousal spiked and he felt his sac draw up. “Oh god, fuuuckkk—“

Cas buried himself to the hilt, circled the head of Dean’s cock and stared hard into his eyes. Being pinned down and locked into Cas’ penetrative gaze from less than an inch away tore him apart from the inside out.

Dean shouted as every muscle convulsed at once, his dick jerked as the first pulse of come spurted out in the most euphoric swell of pleasure he’d ever felt before. It never seemed to end; a continuous cycle of pressure and relief. He was shaking, tears streaking from the corners of his eyes. Weird laughter, or sobbing, he wasn’t sure wracked through him. His lower lip trembled and he felt the warmth of his release splattering all over his own chest, the underside of his chin, dripping down his side. It was fucking everywhere, which was damn impressive considering it was his second release of the night.

Cas seemed frozen in ecstasy above him, eyes screwed shut, mouth parted as he gasped for air, letting his hips jerk automatically against Dean as he fucked and emptied himself into the condom. Dean felt every surge as Cas’ cock flexed and released.

In a strange state of hysteria, the weird cry-laughing came back and he tried to wipe his face. If he didn’t know better, he would think someone had slipped him drugs. But apparently this insanity is what resulted from being taken apart by the person that could kill you by simply leaving you.

…

Both of them must’ve passed out because when he opened his eyes, the room was still and he was having a hard time breathing. Probably because there was a hundred and eighty pounds of dead weight on him.

“Cas,” he croaked.

And he realized, his leg was still hiked up over Cas’ arm and he started to push it back dow—

“ _Ahh_!” he hissed, and bit his lip to hold back more noise. The side of his hip spasmed and he was immeasurably grateful when Cas took the cue and half woke up to roll over.

When Cas began to snore, Dean chuckled and slid out of bed. During their post-sex unconsciousness, Cas must’ve slipped out of him at some point. And the condom had come off and was lying on the bed leaking come.

Awesome. He’d have to put down a towel or something because there was no way in fuck he’d be changing the damn sheets.

He took a few tentative steps, and cursed as his hip spasmed again. God, everywhere hurt. His ass, _definitely_. He was positive Cas had used some lube with that condom but he’d be surprised if it was more than a few drops and they definitely didn’t stop to add more. He’d been too turned on to register pain. Someone could’ve shot him in gut in the middle of sex and he would’ve just screamed at Cas to keep going.

As he quietly limped out of the room, he thought he might collapse. His legs were jittery and weak, his fingers shaking a little. The muscle stretched over the outside of his hip was throbbing and hurt with every step he took. And worst of everything was the steady headache at the back of his skull and between his eyes.

Now wasn’t the time for a goddamned migraine. All he wanted to do was clean up real quick and slide back into bed with Cas and cuddle until he fell back asleep.

Not that he was surprised by the headache. All that yelling and sorry excuse for breathing and being rocked on the bed, surely, his brain took a rattling during that.

Dean managed to reach the bathroom door before the pain spiked to unbearable levels. Oh, fuck…

His knees gave out and tears sprung to his eyes. “Cas,” he tried to yell. It wasn’t coming out right. Dean crawled to the kitchen as the migraine batter-rammed through his head.

He could hardly see, spots were forming all around his vision and he wondered if he was fracturing on the inside. For a brief, clear moment, he was terrified that the man who so flippantly took a life earlier that day was trying to return. It seemed that way, in a nonsensical moment of clarity, he was sure of it.

Goddammit, he needed to get away, he needed to keep Cas safe from him.

Struggling to move, Dean reached up for the counter and clawed his way up until he had his feet under him. Using the walls as support, he fumbled down the hall. It was a wonder he was lucid enough to rip his coat off the hook on the way out.

It seemed to take a year or two to get down the stairs and outside. No one was around. A new, profound rise in the agony sent him down and he felt the harsh scrape of the asphalt on his face.

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck,” he groaned weakly, trying to curl himself up against the pain. With his hands pulling into his chest, he instinctively fingered around for the leather that held the glass charm.

It was his safety net. But when he closed his fist around it, it wasn’t enough anymore.

“I need you,” he rambled, knowing it was nonsense.

Unthinking, moving as if someone else controlled him, Dean ripped off the necklace and smashed the glass vial on the ground.

The contents came straight towards him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've gotten this far and there are no other chapters up yet, I promise they'll be up tomorrow!!! There are only a couple more, I just didn't have time to post them, didn't think anyone would read this far yet.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry the delay, had to cut posting short last night, and was needed for something else this morning. Posting continues NOW

Upstairs, Cas bolted awake and yelled, “Dean… _No!”_

But it was too late. Human or not, he knew what Dean had done. His heart was racing as he scrambled for clothes and ran as fast as his muscles and the length of his gait allowed. It occurred to him he should’ve just jumped out the window.

He wished he would’ve.

Because by the time he found the broken glass on the pavement just outside their building, Dean was gone.

“Gabriel, please,” he prayed. “I need you.”

It was a slap in the face to know that all the careful measures he and Gabriel had put in place so that Dean would be hidden from everything and everyone that could possibly hurt him, was the very same thing that meant he would never track Dean down if Dean didn’t want to be found.

There was an abrupt flutter of wind that broke the stale night air and he looked up to see his brother staring down in grave silence.

“Oh, kiddo. What the heck happened?”

It was an odd sensation to cry, but when Gabriel hugged him, Cas acknowledged that he was, in fact, crying.

“He took my grace. He’ll remember… he’ll hate me. It could kill him.”

Gabriel was mumbling things to him but Cas suddenly felt like his whole world was crumbling. How was this worse than before? How could it be so much more painful than the point in time when he and Gabe had changed everything?

“Because you saw what it was like, Cassie. You were in love before, sure, but being with him… Well, kiddo, that boy’s got something more than just your grace. He’s got your thumpin’ little human heart. Which, by the way, you need to get in check because you’re too young for a heart attack.”

Cas tried to push Gabriel off, but he was human and as much as he didn’t want to feel like he was being coddled, he didn’t have a whole lot of choice. “Find him.”

“We’ll find him. One Winchester never strayed far from the other. Come on, kid, get up.”

Gabriel yanked him to his feet, and he glared at his older kin. “Stop calling me kid, I’m older than the entire human species!”

A chortle mocked him. “Uh, kiddo, you’re human now. So, hate to break it to ya, but you’re all of thirty-seven. Sucks, don’t it?”

“Fuck you. We need to find Dean. _Now!”_

_…_

As Castiel’s experience with Metatron had taught him, there was no way to locate an angel’s grace. An angel, yes, but not the source of their power alone.

Gabriel smacked him on the arm. “We just gotta do this the old fashioned way.”

Cas scowled. “And what’s that?”

“By thinking, dummy. Where would Dean _Winchester_ go if he were suddenly _Dean Winchester_? Know what I mean?”

Squinting, annoyed with the time passing, Cas thought of the bunker. Gabriel took him there but they couldn’t get in. Finding the key would be an arduous task that he wasn’t about to waste time on. Besides, he knew Dean wasn’t there.

“He could be dying.”

Gabriel grabbed his shoulders and steadied him. “It would’ve killed him instantly if anything was gonna happen at all.”

“That’s comforting,” he said dryly.

His brother nagged a finger at him. “Now, come on, little bro… Think about it a minute. He smashed the necklace and instead of your grace going right back to you—as it should’ve—it went to him. Now, why of why could that be?”

It was a mystery. Nothing like it had ever happened before. “I don’t know.”

Gabriel arched back and shouted, “Oh, COME ON!”

“What?!”

“Loooove, you dummy!”

Cas fumed, it was a senseless statement that couldn’t possibly have any impact on the essence of Grace. “Don’t be stupid,” he chastised.

“Oh, right, I’m the idiot here. I’m the one who went and fell in love with the Righteous man and then put a serious wrench into Daddy’s plans and then tumbled down a long, long road towards imminent world-wide destruction and _then_ called on _moi_ and some spawn cooked up by some broad and a demon to go and erase a whole chunk of time. Riiiight.”

In the following silence Cas simply stared. “Let’s check Bobby’s.”

“Fine!”

But they showed up and there was no one there. Then again, Dean didn’t have Gabriel’s form of transportation. “We should wait,” he said. “Dean will come here… I’m positive.”

Gabriel shrugged, muttering, “Whatever,” as he whisked down a hallway to go off and amuse himself.

It was a long while before anything disrupted the silence. Gabriel must have gone off, Castiel wasn’t sure. When he heard the throaty roar of an engine, he thought it might be best if Dean didn’t immediately see him. He might take off and then Cas would have to follow him and it would be… draining.

He just needed to talk to Dean, explain everything. But he would hang back at first, give his friend space.

<><><> 

Focusing, Dean looked at the door. He was trying not to think, not to… remember. But it was there, it was all there. Every last memory of Dean Winchester. _Winchester_. Family, fire, Mom, Dad, hunting, monsters, Sam, Bobby, hell… _Cas_ …

But more, and more. It flooded him. Purgatory… Cain… blood… death… Charlie. Agony and rage fueled together this time. His list raced on… Metatron, the Darkness, Lucifer… Images, faces, endless motels. The bunker.

Cas.

Another list. Dean Campbell. Hazy and vague, a crash, death, but then Sam and Sam was happy. Sam was married. Dean had a job, no, _two jobs._ Apartment, steady life… What year was it? Was he somewhere else?

_Cas_.

Grinding his teeth, Dean slammed his fist on the dense wood. It was a good thing he’d broken into a shop and stolen some clothes because showing up at a biker dude’s place in just a coat wouldn’t have gone over well. Dean Campbell wouldn’t have stolen clothes, a voice nagged in him, and he wasn’t sure which Dean was the one bugging him about it. He was shaking as he cleared his mind, seething, breathing harder than he could control.

The door swung open and a familiar gruff exterior and long beard greeted him. “Dean?” Bax eyed him suspiciously. God, what time was it? When did they… _No._ Dean forced images of he and Cas from his mind.

“I need to borrow your bike.”

Bax stood back and crossed his arms. “Wasn’t your license revoked?”

Stewing about that none the less, Dean wasn’t about to dick around on the guy. He respected him. “Suspended,” he answered honestly.

“What’s goin’ on with you? In some trouble?”

“Nothin’ I can’t handle.”

They sized each other up and Dean tried to put a lid on the rage heating up his blood. Bax pursed his lips with indifference and snatched a set of keys from a wall-hook nearby. He handed them out to Dean.

“You fuck up even one spoke, kid, and you’re fixin’ her on your own dime. Not to mention getting a very reasonable beating from me.”

Dean nodded. “Understood.”

With the keys in his hands, he was turning away when Bax’s hard voice called out. “Wear a fucking helmet!”

Throwing a wave of acknowledgment over his head, Dean stalked off to the back area behind the bar where he knew the shoddy garage sat with the bike inside. A sick Victory Vegas. He opened up the garage and walked the bike out before closing the plywood doors.

The extra helmet was already there for the taking and he was about to put it on. Probably would’ve but he took a breath and felt the power rolling in him.

Cas’ grace.

A shudder nearly sent him to the ground and he had to hold onto the handlebars to steady himself. It shifted in him with every breath and changing emotion. He could feel the heat of it flux under his skin. Curious, he unlatched one of the saddlebags, easily found a knife (not at all surprised) and didn’t hesitate to slice into his forearm. There was blood and pain, but as he stared at the gape of flesh and the red, dripping line he focused and watched in fascination as it slowly disappeared.

Hooking up the spare helmet back to the back, he climbed on without it.

The bike roared to life in a throaty purr, and he hit the kickstand with his heel. Toeing into first gear, he released the clutch and took off.

It was going to be a long drive.

…

When Dean left Palo Alto, he hadn’t been all that sure where he was headed. Only that he wouldn’t be stopping for a good long while. When he got gas the first time, it dawned on him that it was 2008. How the fuck had he gotten here, he asked himself again? Why did he have two lives?

_Cas._

Thoughts of the fucking angel kept storming through his mind and he hated it. His senses called up every detail in such vivid clarity that it hurt. How Cas smelled, how his skin felt when it was wet in the shower, the exact girth of his dick when it was hard… the way he kissed.

Jesus Christ.

Every moment with Cas over the last while told him all he _really_ needed to know. Cas had done this. Cas had stripped Dean and Sam of their lives for some goddamned reason and now they were what? Random Joes in some random universe? Why had snippets been seeping through for him and not for Sam?

Chewing on his lip, Dean pumped the handle for the gas into the bike’s tank and shoved it back into the handle. He threw some bills at the attendant in the cramped store and got back on the cruiser.

He drove too fast, but didn’t care. No one stopped him. And if a cop did manage to catch up to him, well he was smart enough to get around that. Because… ya know… he was Dean _fucking_ Winchester.

The wind whipped by, the lights flashed at intervals, reflecting off the gorgeous lines of the bike.

Hours and hours droned on. Sometime the next day, Dean steered the bike onto a gravel lane he knew well. The house was still standing, but he didn’t see Bobby’s truck. When he broke in, nothing was remarkably different.

It was quiet.

Dean walked into the living room, eyes scoping out the place and the smell of Bobby, grease and liquor, filled his nostrils. Fuck, he missed that cantankerous bastard. Rubbing at his face, he moved around the desk, pulled out the chair and took a seat.

A presence drew his attention, and he went on instant alert. But the person who walked in from the hallway wasn’t Bobby or an enemy.

Cas stood by the entrance to the kitchen and looked back at him. Having the two sides of who he was all mashed up in his mind and then seeing Cas’ face… Dean had to look down at the desk. Bobby’s handwriting caught his eye and he was reminded of everything that Cas had taken from him.

“Explain,” he demanded, barely holding back the urge to throw a few punches.

There was a pause and Cas sighed, resigning himself to what would unfold. “Dean… we weren’t going to win.”

That was it?! Cas boiled down his entire decision into one motherfucking sentence. “Dammit, Cas! You’re gonna have to do a little better than that!”

Glancing up from his staring contest with the desk, he noticed Cas flinch from the crude turn of his voice. Well, that sucked, but the angel had ripped out his memories so… the guy could fucking deal.

“Amara, the darkness… _Dean_ , your brother was considering saying yes to Lucifer again. Everything was falling apart, one solution only caused a worse problem than before. Three weeks before everything changed, Gabriel came to me. It’s a long story, but he isn’t dead—obviously—and for a great deal of time he was locked away by Metatron… but that’s not important, I suppose. I asked him everything he knew about the Darkness and he confirmed that Lucifer _might_ have been able to get rid of her, but he was adamantly against it. He said that under no circumstances should the Devil be let out, and I fully agreed with him. What he did know for certain was that the connection you had with Amara… it wouldn’t have ended well. You could’ve been reinfected by the Mark, or worse…” Cas’ familiar voice came to a stop.

Dean stewed with his thoughts and wouldn’t allow himself to raise his chin. “So, what… shit gets bad,” Dean huffed angrily, “and you just thought: _Hey!_ _Let’s throw everyone back a few years and fuck with their memories!_ Awesome fucking plan, Cas. Lovin’ the trip so far, how about we go back now, huh? _”_

There was a weighted silence after he spoke. It continued to unnerve him enough that he finally lifted his head and looked across the room. Cas was staring back, expression full of guilt and pain.

“What?!” he shouted.

“I didn’t just… throw you and Sam back in time, Dean. Me, Gabriel... and Jesse, we… _erased it._ ”

What the fuck now? Dean leaned forward in a stupor because no goddamn way he heard that right. “You. Erased. It?” he enunciated slowly. 

It was a few seconds before Cas explained. “We were trying to think of different solutions. Gabriel and myself, and during our discussions—”

“—Discussions that I didn’t need to know about apparently.”

“You would’ve been against it,” Cas stated firmly. “Let me finish.”

Dean glared. “Knock yourself out.”

“During our discussions, I remembered Jesse, the boy you and Sam first referred to as the anti-Christ, which was inaccurate, but I’m sure you remember him and his nearly infinite power. I made a comment to Gabriel about the boy—What if we could find him? We might have enough juice to go back in time, maybe change something the way Balthazar had once before. It was Gabriel who believed that with our combined power, we could do one better, we could reverse the damage completely. We could take everything back to neutral. You and Sam could have a life.”

“ _And what about our other life?!_ ” yelled Dean, incensed beyond comprehension. “Every memory I have with my brother is fucking gone… at least for him. Cas, you didn’t even ask me! You didn’t ask Sam, you just—“

“Sam knew.”

Dean sank back into Bobby’s creaky chair. “What?”

“Gabriel decided that Sam was the more… reasonable of the two of you and we decided to talk to him about it. See what he thought. Jesse needed to create new memories and new lives, which was hard to do. Not to mention reconciling the two versions of Sam and Dean from this time and Sam and Dean from the future. Only myself, Gabriel, Jesse and both of you were reversed along with the entire process. It was complicated. Sam was the one to supply a lot of the details. He was the one who wanted to be at the school, and he wanted you close by, living a life that you’d enjoy but that you’d believe.” Cas paused and looked up for a moment, thinking something over. “As for Sam being married, he must’ve had that discussion with Gabriel or Jesse because I knew nothing about it. All I know is that he wanted to be happy, and he wanted you to be happy, and Dean… he thought the end result was justified for what he was giving up.”

It hurt to hear it. Brought actual tears to his eyes to know that Sam had been so on board to dump every memory they ever had, all for a cheesy apple-pie life. What killed him most about it was that he was fucking glad. He’d always wanted Sam to have that. But, God, at the expense of so much?

Knowing Sam had been involved in this cockamamie bullshit plan, tore a lot of the fire out him. But not all of it. “Cas, you… you ripped out a chunk of my life without even hesitating, without coming to me first… and then…” _seduced me?_ No fucking way was he saying that. Fury roared in him and the bookcase behind him rattled. It reminded him that he had a nuclear bomb inside him.

Cas took a step closer, looking cautious. “It could’ve killed you. It may still…”

“No, it won’t,” he said with absolutely conviction. Dean could feel Cas’ grace inside him, warm and perfectly seated. It wasn’t going anywhere just yet. Maybe he was being an asshole because he was pissed, but he didn’t care.

“When you started having problems, Gabriel told me.”

“Why me and not Sam?”

Cas blinked, looking thoughtful. “I wasn’t sure at first. Hadn’t planned on interfering with your life at all—“

Dean snorted.

“—But Gabriel practically forced me, said it might help you. That’s why I showed up. I had no idea why everything was happening to you until… until the night you took that drug.”

Oh, god, he remembered that trip. Both of his lives had been flinging around inside his skull like a twisted merry-go-round. The only thing that had calmed the storm was Cas’ hand…

“You soul groped me, didn’t you?”

The faintest smile flickered in Cas’ expression, but it was gone fast. “Yes. Somehow, and I have no idea how, the essence of who you were as _Dean Winchester_ was tied in with your soul more than your mind, and I could feel it trying claim the parts of you that had been altered… such as your memories.”

“Awesome. How did you even do that anyway? You’re human now aren’t you?”

“Human, yes, but I’m able to make use of my grace if it’s very near and I concentrate. It recognizes me, and allows me to harness the energy.”

Jesus Christ, he didn’t know what to say to any of this. Cas had been his best friend, and they’d all been living at the bunker. Now he was stuck in this Stepford existence? He had to tell Sam. They had to find a way back. If Jesse, the almighty do-gooder anti-Christ could wipe away time so easily maybe he could … ... _put it back?_

Dammit, Dean knew it was a lost cause just thinking it. Did he even want to go back? If Cas could suddenly make it happen? Would he really be all sign-me-up for Amara and all the rest of it?

“Talk to me,” said Cas. Man, that goddamn voice sounded _so_ intimate now, and Dean tried to avoid his brain so nicely reminding him of how it turned raspy and full of breath when Cas was turned on.

He shook his head. “Talk to you?” he mocked the suggestion. “You want me to _talk_ to you. After what you did, after you _not_ talking to me about anything. And after you fucking came into my stupid little fabricated life and lied…” Dean fumed, “lied your way right into bed with me.”

Cas bowed his head. “Don’t say that.”

“I can say whatever I want.” Dean said flatly. “Get the fuck out.”

“Dean,” Cas pleaded, blue eyes meeting his in a grim expression. “You know it wasn’t like that.”

Maybe Cas was right. Either way, it didn’t matter. He refused to look at those damn blue eyes filled with despair. “Leave.”

He noticed Cas stand up straight, squaring his shoulders. Dean didn’t have to see his face to know the pain he was in. Dean felt it too but he couldn’t get past this, couldn’t see past his anger to something good.

“Fine. But Dean…” Cas’ steady voice wavered, “it may not matter to you, but I do love you. I’m _in_ love with you... irrevocably. And I will _always_ do whatever I can to protect you, even if it meant... _means_ losing you. Not because I was once your guardian angel but because… you are the single most important thing… in the world to me. If something ever happened to you—” Once more, Cas lost his words and it was crushing Dean to hear everything.

He waited for Cas to go on, and finally clued in on the stark silence. Lifting up his head, he found the room empty.

Cas had left.

…

Dean wallowed in utter misery for all of ten minutes before a beat of wings startled him. Seeing Gabe suddenly staring down at him, Dean quickly wiped the wetness from his face and settled back into pissed mode.

“What the fuck do you want?”

“Ooh, someone woke up on the messy side of the bed.”

Wow, so not the way to take this conversation, thought Dean. “Man, I have control of Cas’ grace and don’t think I won’t use it to kick your ass.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes and sauntered forward. “Please, Dean-o. I could turn you into a pancake right now if I wanted, so watch your snark with me, okay? Besides I’m here to tell you to smarten the hell up!”

“Excuse me?”

“That’s right, you heard good ol’ uncle Gabe correctly.” Moving in front of the desk, the archangel plunked into the nearest chair and crossed his legs. “Boo-fucking-hoo, Dean Winchester was bamboozled! Sorry for trying give you a better life! _Our bad,_ ” the angel shot out sarcastically.

Man, he was not in the mood for Gabe’s shit right now. “You don’t just tear apart a man’s life, Gabriel!”

“I’m sorry, what life do you think you had? An overly dependent, disturbed relationship with your brother… a longing for Cassie that you never would have acted on. Rage issues… probably right around the corner from death, wouldn’t you say? And now, you had this one chance and you were _right_ there! You and Cas… it was exactly how I always wrote about it in my fanfictions.”

Dean narrowed his eyes in confusion, “What?!”

“Not important, Dean-o. But here’s the thing…” he gestured with his finger, “you found out the truth and then basically stomped on my little brother’s heart and now I’m gonna have to kill you.”

Oh, this fucker couldn’t be serious. “Cas made a decision about my life and didn’t even bother to ask my fucking opinion and then he shows up and… and lets all that happen?!” Dean waved in the air to indicate all the stuff he couldn’t say. “And you honestly expect me to be fucking cool with?!” Dean yelled, rising from his chair.

The bookcases were rattling again and Gabe was staring around the room with less caution than Cas, more of a vague interest.

“Oh, for the love of _Dad_ , suck it up. You let my baby bro bang you and you feel all violated!? Well, news flash dumbass, your crazy love for him is the reason he came back to begin with. It’s the reason you remember everything, it’s the reason you nagged him for a date—oh, yes he told me—and it’s the reason you have his grace all cozy up in you right now and you’re not exploding all over the furniture!” Gabriel took a steep breath and then lowered his voice, “When are you going to realize?”

“What?” he asked. Kicking himself for giving into this nonsense, irritating conversation, but he needed to know.

“Castiel is the best goddamn thing that’s ever happened to you. And you know what? I think that fucking terrifies you. I think when all that history was clogging up your mind, it was only _too_ easy to put aside the truth. But without all that, when all you were was Dean Campbell—a nobody—you went for him with everything you had.”

There was truth in everything Gabe had said. Dean knew it, but he refused to back down. This was too damn extreme. Cas had _erased_ his life.

“Dean, man, I’m not saying you give him a free pass. You have every right to be a little peeved. But you need to get why he did what he did. You need to realize that throwing aside what you guys have is about the stupidest decision you could ever make.”

Every time Dean tried to hear reason, he couldn’t help but wonder what Cas had been thinking when he was kissing Dean. Was he glad that Dean Campbell had none of the hangups that Dean Winchester had? Jesus… what if Cas actually preferred him without his memories. Without question, he was probably a better guy to be around.

“He fucked up, Gabe,” Dean said coldly. “He should’ve come to me and he didn’t. What does that say about us? It says _everything_ about why nothing ever happened before, and then,” his voice rose steadily, “there was all of a sudden this perfect situation where things could happen because I was conveniently in the dark! I wasn’t given the right context.”

In a startling show of power, Gabe slammed his hands on the desk. “And in said awful woe-is-me darkness, you finally let yourself fall for him because you had nothing to be afraid of. Holy _Dad_ , I thought Lucifer was a drama queen! You listen closely, Dean Winchester-Campbell, my little brother would tear himself apart one cell at a time if it meant protecting you so if you plan to shit all over what he’s done for you I might be inclined to forget about all the promises I’ve made to him and motherfucking end you kid. Your choice.”

And with that, Gabe vanished in a flap and stir of air.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes! Finally, the last chapter. Sorry I took forever to post, I get pulled away from my computer because my boyfriend decided to do some impromtu reno's in the kitchen and needed help. Enjoy!

When Dean was finally alone he tried to piece everything together. Those dimwits had brought everything all the way back since before Lucifer rose. They’d erased their former lives, which made Dean wonder about a lot of things. Did Bobby even know of the Winchesters? Was his noggin scrambled too? It probably had to be.

Anyone they’d ever have met would’ve needed a bit of a memory scrub. But then he remembered Crowley.

Shit. Crowley had somehow found Cas, and the craziest part is that he hadn’t even recognized Dean. Not easily anyway. Pulling the wool over the eyes of the King of Hell couldn’t have been an easy thing to do.

There was so much he didn’t understand, and where would he even get with it? Did it matter if he knew all the ins and outs or not. Bobby was alive and Charlie was alive. Sam was happy, well unless he’d come home the other day and found a dead body on his kitchen floor. Dean suspected Cas had called in Gabe to clean up his mess.

Reaching over, Dean pulled out the side drawer of the desk and smiled at the bottle sitting there. He took it out and uncapped the cheapest rotgut available.  Taking a bracing gulp of it, he felt the strong liquor splash into his empty stomach. Man, couldn’t Cas’ grace have come with some kind of never-hungry setting?

After another couple of sips, he reached over for the phone on Bobby’s desk and dialed Sam’s cell by heart. It was funny, he had all these other phone numbers in his head that were useless now.

It rang only twice before it picked up. “Hello?”

“Hey Sammy.”

“Dean?” his brother asked, confusion stretching his voice. “Where are you?”

“Not important. Just visiting a friend. Look, I’m sorry about missing out on dinner and… Look, you didn’t see anything weird when you got home did you?”

“Uh, no,” Sam paused, “What’s goin on?”

How the hell would he answer that? Sam had wanted this. And as much as it pained him to keep his mouth shut, that was exactly what he was gonna do. He had a lifetime to make new memories with his brother, _better_ memories. “Nothing, Cas and I… had a fight. I guess. Not sure if things are gonna work out.”

Sam was quiet, but finally said, “I’ve never seen you happier, you’re crazy about him… Don’t fuck this up Dean.”

Guess it wasn’t too shocking Sammy would place the blame on him. “Man, I ain’t the one who fucked up. Trust me… Cas… he pulled a dick move okay?”

“I doubt that.”

“What are you, his cheerleader?”

Sam snorted. “I know you, Dean. You’re not exactly wears-his-heart-on-his-sleeve guy, ya know. I think maybe things got too much for you, and maybe Cas did do something, but you took it as your excuse to jump ship and you were probably a dick about it.”

God, why did Sammy have to be so on point all the damn time. It was exhausting. “Dude this wasn’t just Cas doing something mundane like checkin out someone else… he—“ _Duped me into exposing how much I fucking loved him._ “It was just bad, okay.”

“Did he sleep with someone else?”

“No,” Dean said grudgingly. But he saw it right in that moment; the outcome of his decision to basically tell Cas to fuck off. If they were over, why wouldn’t the ex-angel try and find someone else. Find someone that would make love to him… _‘a misplaced fantasy, a result of… past disappointments...’_

Goddamn. The lists were back. This time it was rollcall of every time he’d let the guy down, every time he’d demanded his presence for some reason or another, used him without appreciation. Worst of it was, Dean had known. The whole damn time, he’d seen the way Cas had looked at him. Heck, maybe Cas had seen the way Dean had often looked back. But not once had he showed any inclination that he even was aware of it.

To imagine Cas in his room back at the bunker, disappointed… thinking and fantasizing about Dean taking _care_ of him, _making love to him_. And in place of that, getting a cold shoulder more often than not. It had been Dean’s way of keeping his own sanity.

A dick move.

“Dean?” interrupted Sam.

“Yeah,” he croaked, pain constriction his throat. “I’m still here.”

“Do you love him?”

Taking a second to think—not that he needed it—he was overwhelmed by the suffocating pressure of the emotion. He did love Cas… loved him too damn much, in his opinion. Unable to confirm it, because it would make all of this crap harder than it needed to be, he pointedly stayed quiet.

“I’ll take that as a yes," noted Sam "Tell me, what he did that was so bad, why did he do it?”

Fuck. Dean groaned a sigh. “Because he was desperate.”

“Is that all? He did something stupid because he was desperate? Dean, you’re gonna have to tell me more if you really want my help with all this. You know... I _am_ the relationship expert here.” He could hear Sam’s smile across the line. The kid was so fucking happy… doing what he loved and enjoying life to the fullest. Hearing the joy in his brother’s voice… Dean started to believe that maybe what Cas had done might be worth it in the end.

_Maybe._

“I can’t tell you everything, because it’s… uh, personal, but thing is… he did it because he wanted to protect me from something. He wanted to fix something that was wrong. So yeah, I’m not a fucking moron, I know he did all this from a good place… but the result… was, it was major, man. And Sam, he didn’t come to me with it. He didn’t even try to talk to me.”

“Would you have listened?”

Dean didn’t answer.

“Exactly.”

This was insane. Dean pulled the phone away from his ear and smacked himself in the forehead with it. Tucking it back between his cheek and shoulder, he sighed and spoke up, “Hey, thanks for… listening, Sammy.”

“Anytime Dean. You’re my brother; I love you.”

Not once in his former life could he remember Sam feeling comfortable enough to say that to him. He’d never wanted to know why. And since Dean wasn’t all gushing with the _'I love you'_ crap either, it went unsaid. His throat was tight as he replied, “Love you too, kid.”

“Alright, I’m gonna head to class. Remember—Don’t fuck it up with Cas!”

With that, the line clicked dead and Dean placed it back in its cradle. Only Bobby would have an old school landline in nearly every room in the house. It brought a smile to his face. Maybe new life as Dean Campbell wasn’t so bad. He could hunt… and he’d need to find out about all the monsters he and Sammy had killed before. Were those taken care of? Did they still need to be? Would Dean be responsible now for going down the list of bad motherfuckers to gank?

Or, he reconsidered, what if he simply… left Bobby a list? And then went home and continued working with Camden and Ritchie, moonlighting at the Steel Rose whenever he wanted. What if he became normal? 

What if Cas was there all the time? A warm, familiar body next to him every night.

The alternative was… objectionable. It would be easy, though. A piece of cake to pick up his old life and walk away from what Cas had given him. But it would hurt like a motherfucker, requiring obscene amounts of alcohol to whimper his way through the worst of it.

Except, if he were hunting again, it would inevitably put Sam in danger. Fuck, Dean could even see the future roll out from that decision. Quickly, he realized how imperative it had been to strip them of their memories. It was the only way to ensure they didn't continue to make every wrong choice all over again. 

Rubbing a hand over his jaw, Dean fought an internal battle of emotions and wavering paths. He sat in the familiar room, always dark no matter the time of day, and stewed with his thoughts. In the background, a dim presence, he felt Cas’ grace moving peacefully inside him.

There was endless complexity to it. Concentrating hard enough, Dean could distinguish the pieces of the whole, the facets that identified the energy as Cas’ alone. There was heat, but also warmth… a sense of safety. Digging deeper into the construct, eyes closing as he fell into a daze, he immersed himself in the emotions that came separately from the coil of energy.

Affection, and love, and an unrivaled sense of intimacy.

Gabriel had made a good point in all this, Cas’ grace should have destroyed him and he knew it. There’d been countless cases of an angel possessing a human, but not once had he ever heard of a human being able to harness an angel’s grace. That had to be against the rules, and he thought back to a time when Cas had claimed they were bonded. _Profoundly_ , might he add.

Had that been fancy angel talk for being soulmates?

Dean snorted. Was Cas his fucking soulmate? Did that even exist outside of the fabricated exploits of cupids?

Flashes of their night together exploded across his mind, the grace heating up in response, and Dean remembered how unhinged he’d felt. In part because his two identities were fighting to be present, he knew that now. But also… because he’d never been with someone he loved like that before. It was raw, and breathtaking.

Did it matter who he was when he finally let Cas in? Maybe he’d needed to be in the dark to see things clearly for once.

Of course, all of his arguments and inner debates were pointless in the end. It all hinged on one question he had to ask himself.

Could he even live without Cas now? Could he _seriously_ just pick up and leave, resigning himself to never seeing the guy again. Knowing that someone would eventually take his place. A man, or a woman, who knew what Cas would go for. But someone… someone _else_ would lay Cas out on some bed and…

Dean stood up. “ _Fuck no!_ ”

…

The trip back took longer than the way there. It gave him more time to think, more time to own up to his own shortcomings. Fact was, both of them had made colossal mistakes along the way. And he wasn’t prepared to forgive Cas just yet, but he wasn’t ready to lose him either.

It turned out he was a little too jealous for that. Maybe somewhat selfish too. And of course, he was in love to the point of obsession. It basically added up to the conclusion that Dean was essentially whipped. Smitten, infatuated, lovesick. Whatever the kids were calling it these days.

Damn blue-eyed mystery Cas.

Smiling, Dean cranked the accelerator with his right hand and relished in the power of the bike surging forward.

It was just before dawn the next day by the time he finally made it back. He’d done his fair share of speeding through each state. But not one speeding ticket, and that was lucking out because if he were sticking to being Dean Campbell, he probably couldn’t afford speeding tickets on a suspended license.

Goddamn. He was fucking legit now, wasn't he? That was gonna be a new challenge for sure. His first stop was to the bar, or more accurately, the apartment above it where Bax and Marn lived. He returned the bike and the keys and when his boss asked him if he’d sorted out his shit, Dean simply said, “It’s gettin’ there.”

“You’re working later today. Eight o’clock tonight. Show up or you’re fired.”

Yeah, he probably should’ve expected that. “I’ll be here. Promise.”

Dean walked home from the bar, the low light of morning starting to settle on the taller buildings. It felt strange to mount the stairs towards his apartment. He wasn’t the same man than when he left and it was now Dean Winchester, former resident of the bunker, striding up each flight towards a one-bedroom in Palo Alto. All his bills came here, and he had furniture.

His door was unlocked when he got to it, not that it surprised him. What _did_ surprise him, was finding Cas in his bed. It was clear he hadn’t expected Dean to come back. One hundred percent asleep, he was curled up on the side of the bed that Dean always chose. The blankets that'd been tossed on the floor the last he remembered were tucked in around Cas tightly.

Seeing him, Dean was conflicted. Some of the anger came back but also the desire to kiss him. Dean wasn’t sure if he wanted to yell or get undressed.

Fooling around this time around… Well, it would be with all the other memories he had of Cas. Like that time Cas swallowed purgatory monsters and moonlighted as God for a while. Yeah, that had been loads of fun.

Acting on impulse, Dean grabbed the edge of the blanket and pulled it off. Unkindly baring Cas’ skin to the chill of the room. He was wearing boxers and… Dean’s “Fuck me up” t-shirt. He had to hold back a laugh. Dammit, he was still pissed and needed Cas to know that.

A soft groan preceded Cas opening his eyes and half-way sitting up. “Dean?” After a few blinks, he stiffened from the top down and eased out of the bed, eyes darting around, probably looking for clothes. “What are you doing back? I thought… you were… gone?” Picking up a sweater from the floor, _Dean’s_ , and then jogging pants,  _also Dean’s_ , Cas dressed himself.

Trying not to enjoy the picture of Cas in his Costco pants and Stanford hoodie, he hardened his tone and replied, “Yeah, and then I came back. What are _you_ doing here?” Dean gestured to the room, and his apartment, wondering why Cas hadn’t gone back to his own place. He suspected the reason though.

Cas shrugged. “I’m sorry… I’ll leave.” Making a go of brushing past, Dean shot out his arm and grabbed Cas’ elbow on the way by.

“Hold up.”

“If you’re wanting to shout some more about how terrible of a thing I’ve done, you can save your breath. I’ll be gone in a few minutes.”

Dean closed his eyes, hating the tension between them. “No, dammit Cas, just wait a sec.”

“What?” Cas said flatly.

“You planning to box everything up today?”

Cas looked stunned. “You want me to leave my apartment?” The guy’s entire frame shrank and Dean felt like shit. “If that’s what you want. I guess—“

Dean couldn’t take it a second longer. He yanked Cas closer and laid a kiss on him, fire and want roaring in him, heightened by the power of the grace. The contents of the room vibrated as his emotions surged.

The man in his arms went still out of shock and pulled back to stare at Dean in complete bewilderment. “I don’t understand,” he said stiffly.

Dean smiled, stole another kiss and explained. “Well… it makes no sense for you to keep your apartment if you might as well just live here with me.”

Standing still, Cas’ brows pinched together and his eyes narrowed further. “You want me to... move in. _With you_?” Cas scrunched his nose adorably. “Are you not still mad? Are you still… _you_?”

Framing Cas’ face with his broad palms, he inched closer. “I’m me. Not a fan of you scrapping my last name by the way, but I get why. And yeah I’m still pissed. Really pissed, actually… but here’s the thing…” Dean greeted Cas’ lips in a soft lingering kiss, heady enough that he was low on air by the end of it. “I can’t stand the idea of you with anyone but me. I…” Swallowing his fear of saying it out loud, Dean went on, “I’m… in love with you. _Crazy_ in love with you and I’m pretty damn sure you know that. I was an asshole for accusing you of taking advantage of the situation. I’m sorry…”

Partly, still in a state of shock, Cas managed to say, “I forgive you,” in a polite tone, a smile starting to warm his features.

Dean tsked. “I appreciate that, but you are _soooo_ not off the hook. Man, you erased _time_. That’s gonna require like… daily blowjobs to make up for it.”

Instant heat darkened Cas’ eyes and he leaned closer. “That can be arranged.”

Seriously? Shit, he'd been joking. 

But damn. Daily blow jobs... Mmmm, Dean’s eyes slammed shut just picturing how gorgeous Cas had looked with his lips wrapped around Dean’s sex. About that… “Hey, speaking of… why the hell are you so fucking awesome at giving head? Were you taking secret BJ classes this whole time?”

Cas laughed. “No… but I found some excellent porn online.”

“And what?” Dean chuckled. “You took notes?”

“I was a studious observer of the acts.”

Uh-huh. “Something about the image of you jacking off to porn is seriously all manner of hot to me. But I’m still pissed. And I’m marking this down as our first fight, and it’s a doozy… From here on out though, you’re stuck with me. I mean it Cas, I’m not standing here on a whim, okay. I’m… committed or whatever. There’s no going back.”

Biting his lip in an attempt not to smile, Cas nodded. “I don’t think being stuck with you is such a terrible fate.”

“You say that now…” he warned. Meaning to say more, Dean got sidetracked by the tease of Cas’ mouth being so close.

Sliding his arms around Cas’ waist, he pulled him in tight and joined their lips in a needed kiss. Sweeping his tongue inside, he moaned as he felt Cas respond.

Both of them were growing hard, only causing them to strain into each other more. They were nearing the bed when Cas eased off him and sat down on it, his hands hooking into Dean’s stolen jeans. “Care for today’s blow job now, or would you rather wait?”

A startled sound choked out of his throat. Damn, Cas liked to provoke him. But no, that wasn’t what was on his mind at all. “Actually,” Dean unlatched Cas’ hands and threaded their fingers together, pushing Cas back onto his bed. “There’s something I should’ve done a long time ago…” he started, lowering himself over Cas, breaking the link of their hands to begin undressing them. “I don’t want to mess this up… I don’t want to _disappoint_ you.”

Cas’ mouth fell open and his whole body went lax in unconscious invitation. Dean loved how easily Cas accepted him. It amazed him that Cas had fallen for him. It would’ve made more sense if he’d been Dean Campbell, but Cas had fallen for Dean Winchester; a rude, inconsiderate jerk more often than not.

And on top of all that, Cas had been willing to sacrifice never seeing him again so that Dean might have a life. Dean wasn’t sure he’d have been strong enough to do that.

Taking advantage of Cas’ stunned response, Dean undressed him as if he were the most precious gift on the damn planet. And for Dean, he was. Someone who deserved far more from Dean than he’d been getting.

“You don’t have to—“ Cas stared up at him, willing but worried about Dean’s motivations. “If you’re still mad… I would understand.”

Dean threw off the last of his thieved attire and settled himself on Cas’ front, skin and heat all around him. “Cas,” he said firmly.

“Yes?”

“I want to make love to you.” Cas’ blue eyes widened in arousal. Dean tacked on, “For about four hours… _Minimum._ So, I seriously hope you don’t have any other plans.”

Smiling in a way that reached his eyes, making them all crinkly, Cas wrapped his arms around Dean’s neck and temptingly spread his legs. “I think I can put off moving for this.”

Dean laughed. “I’m sure your new roommate won’t mind.”

…

Dean did make love to Cas for hours… hell, he even took a bathroom break to take a leak, brought back water to stay hydrated, re-lubed and kept going! They finished twice each, and when they ultimately collapsed in a mess of arms and legs, skin slick with sweat, come, and smears of Astroglide, Dean was somehow more in love with Cas than before.

Maybe because it was all of him this time around. It was their previous past, immediate past, and the unknown future all coalescing into something great.

He thanked Cas’ grace for his awesome stamina. But blamed it for the state of his room in the aftermath. Apparently euphoric orgasms when pumped full of grace resulted in sheer destruction. His dresser had essentially exploded, clothes and shards of wood just everywhere. It would be funny if it wasn’t annoying.

Lying naked sprawled on the bed afterward Cas asked whether Dean planned to keep it, quietly advising that it would be a bad idea. All his efforts in hiding Dean from threats were hard to hold up when he was walking around with that kind of power.

It was why the demon had gone to Sam’s days ago, it had sensed the power of the grace reacting to him and Cas together.

Dean whined, “But your grace likes me. And it’s wicked awesome to be able to move stuff.” Pinning Cas with a serious look, he said, “Cas, I’m basically Batman now.”

Cas rolled his eyes. “Batman or not, you can’t keep it. And I’m not entirely sure it’s safe for you to wear anymore… That is, if you even still wanted to—“

“—Hell yes I want to. We’ll figure something out.”

With a shallow dip of his chin and a smile, Cas said, “I suppose we will. I have a habit of giving in to you...”

A huff of laughter came from Dean as he remembered begging Cas to go on a date with him. He also remembered that Cas had tried to say no… And fuck was he ever happy that Cas’ willpower sucked pretty bad. There was so much he still needed to know about the whole time reversal business, endless questions that might take hours to get through.

But for now, he was more than sated. He was given a second chance to have a real life. Of course, there would need to be some tweaking on a few things. Dean Campbell had been an alright guy, as was Dean Winchester… but together, they’d make a pretty awesome man. Maybe even a man worthy of this degree of happiness.

But some tweaks were needed.

Turning his head to the side, he met Cas’ blue eyes and proceeded to let his gaze roam down the exposed lines of Cas’ body. Nearly every inch of skin carried a lingering sheen of sweat, a few red splotches showed around Cas’ nipples and down towards his hips—all Dean’s doing.

Right, he needed to get back on track here. “Conditions,” he said solidly, trying to steer his mind from sex. Grace stamina, man, that shit was wild.  Hours of making love to Cas and he was pretty damn ready to go again.

“Conditions?” echoed Cas, raising his brows at Dean.

“Yeah, with you moving in and everything, and us being all… full steam ahead and all that good stuff, there’s a couple of things we need to deal with pretty quick.”

Notably growing concerned, Cas stared back. “Um, like what?”

Dean bit down on the inside of his lips. “Yeah… it’s about the minivan, Cas,” he said sensitively.

Blowing out an amused laugh, Cas shook his head. “Dean, you lost your license and that _excellent_ safety-rated vehicle was a very good deal. I don’t think you should be carping about it.”

Groaning, he fired back with, “Dude. You erased time.”

Cas rolled over towards him and pointed a finger. “Don’t think you’ll be able to use that in every discussion.”

We’ll see about that, he thought with a grin. “Oh, I’m damn well gonna try.”

Taking a minute to simply stare at Dean without apology, Cas finally opened his mouth and said, “If you fix the Impala… I’ll drive that.”

“Oh no,” argued Dean. “No way you’re getting behind the wheel of my Baby. Sam had to wait years for that privilege and he’s my brother! We’ll ease into that one.”

There was a sudden glint in Cas’ eyes. “Hmm, let me see if I understand. I’m allowed to drive _you…_ but not the car.”

He tried to fight of his responsive grin, but it was no use. “Exactly.”

“Any more conditions?”

Dean thought for a few seconds and then laid a palm on Cas’ chest. “Only one more.”

“And what’s that?”

Pressing Cas into the mattress, Dean crawled back on top of him. But not for another round, more so he could see him better, feel the rise and fall of his chest. “I want you to talk to me, Cas,” he said gravely. “I don’t want you to ever again feel like you can’t come to me about things. Especially now.” Pausing to rest his hand against Cas’ neck, he felt the pulse beating away. “I know I’m stubborn, and I know I can be a dick… and sometimes I can’t see the big picture. But from here on out, I want to be the person that you come to when there’s a problem, or when you have stuff on your mind. I want to know what’s going on in your… crazy, weird brain.”

A partial laugh shook Cas’ chest beneath him, but he sobered quickly and fixed Dean with a look. “It goes both ways.”

“I know.” Dean let his weight lower onto Cas and pressed his mouth with a kiss. Thick, soft lips instantly opened up to let his tongue sweep inside for a taste. The memory of their first real kiss rose to the forefront of his mind and damn, it had been sinfully good. But Dean _cherished_ every single kiss before that. All the sweet, innocent ones that Cas had served up. In hindsight, Dean realized how nervous and worried Cas had been, could sense the underlying conflict in every move.

Working himself into a state, Dean eased off and took a few breaths. Cas was smiling up at him; a lazy, satisfied smile.

“What are you thinking about _right_ _now_?” asked Cas.

Harbouring a swell of joy, Dean replied, “What the best part of being Dean Campbell was.”

Squinting, Cas searched his face. “What was that?” he asked, adorably oblivious.

Dean grinned. “ _You_.”

 

...

 

_**THE END** _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who read all the way to the end and I would love to hear your comments! Or smack that kudos button if you enjoyed yourself along the way :)

**Author's Note:**

> Woohoo! Finally posted every chapter. Sorry it took way longer than I expected. If you found any errors along the way, please let me know, I always get caught up in last minute changes when I'm posting. And thank you all for your patience. 
> 
> If I missed any tags, let me know. 
> 
> And of course, if you did like the story, I would love a comment!! XD
> 
> Please feel free to come visit me on tumblr:  
> [Cocklesheadboop](http://cocklesheadboop.tumblr.com)


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